


From Queensbury, With Love

by Ryxl



Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator, Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Ana is Alex, Demisexual Jack, Fareeha is Amanda, Helping Each Other, Jack is Dadsona, Joseph is skeevy, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Past Abuse, Recovery, Robert is a dirt-encrusted cinnamon roll, Romantic Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, almost everyone in Dream Daddy, buckle up we're going on a feels trip, rating to be safe, spoilers for multiple routes, toxic marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-06 17:22:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 100,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12215388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryxl/pseuds/Ryxl
Summary: If you'd asked, Jack would have told you he was aro/ace. Then he saw Robert in the coffee shop and immediately wondered what the HELL was wrong with him that the unwashed, unshaven, surly drunk made him go all melty inside. But Jack's been the nurturing type all his life, and if anyone needs some TLC, it's Robert. For his part, Robert's spent his whole life just taking and thinking about himself, but he's about to find out that it's hard to take from someone who gives freely...and that he can be a better man than he thought he was.The happy ending Robert deserves. The closure he craves. The therapy he desperately needs. All this, and more, in From Queensbury, With Love!(Jack is an AU of the very tired Jack from 'Stay'.)





	1. Moving in

**Author's Note:**

> I was in the middle of writing 'Stay' when Dream Daddy was released, and initially I (like about half of you, I'm sure) saw the dads as imitations of who they resembled. "I'm gonna romance the fuck out of not!Gabriel," I said to myself, because the very tired Jack Morrison from 'Stay' would have immediately flung himself into taking care of Gabe if he looked like Robert did. Then this conversation happened:
> 
> tatch - Fyi Joseph is a jackass and I'd punch him in the jaw  
> me - O.o  
> tatch - Just saying  
> me - I guess I'll find out eventually XD  
> tatch - Yeeaaaah won't tell you more ^^  
> me - imagine him meeting tJack  
> ................please don't let me write crossover  
> tatch - a what what crossover?  
> me - tJack/Dream Daddy  
> tatch - NO  
> .... Robert could use tJack's cooking  
> me - HE LOOKS IT  
> tatch - He needs it
> 
> ...and four days later I was figuring out how to make the crossover work. Four days after that, I started writing this. Excellent job not letting me write crossover, tatch. :p

 “Dad.” There’s a pause. “DAD! Wake up!”

Is there a fire? Is she hurt? Adrenaline pulls out a pair of giant sawed-off shotguns and shoots the deep, dreamless sleep I’d been enjoying. I’m lying in the middle of the living room, spooning a moving box. I yawn and stretch. Fareeha’s giving me a Look of resigned disappointment with a pinch of long-suffering sigh. Her mother would have been proud of her.

“Morning, Manda Panda,” I say, trying to alleviate that disappointment by using the nickname of the name she’d given herself and used on and off since first grade. Don’t blame her for switching to it full-time since we got the news about Ana.

It works, because she rolls her eyes and grins. “Yikes, Dad breath,” she teases. “Go brush your teeth.”

The last time I’ll be doing _this_ in our…old…house. I brush, rinse, and slide the toothbrush and toothpaste into their waiting Ziploc bag, then toss that into my backpack.

“Did you fall asleep packing?” Amanda asks as I emerge from the bathroom, like that wasn’t painfully obvious.

Actually…I did sort of go into a fugue state at some point. I’m not sure if I finished or not.

“I got most of it done, I think…” Searching around the room, it looks like I did a pretty good job. Every box is sealed except for one. “…wait, straggler.”

“What’s in it?” Amanda asks as I reach for the tape.

That’s a good question. Looking into the box, I see a bunch of old photos in little photo albums.

“Whoah, I haven’t seen these in years…”

Well, now we’re not going anywhere until we look at them, because I haven’t seen them for years, either. I pull out one of the dusty albums from the top of the pile and we begin looking through it. The sunglasses we couldn’t get her to stop fussing without, the Dragon Princess costume, the horse phase. The school play with Emma…..P? R? I can never keep those two straight, probably because Amanda met one of them in high school and keeps calling them “the Emmas”. It was just “Emma” before that, no last name. Sigh. The first photography award Amanda won, and…

We both go quiet, looking at it. The first picture of her, the day she was born and I legally became her parent. Ana never would tell me anything about the man who got her pregnant, and the state of Indiana wouldn’t care what I looked like as long as they had a name to put in for ‘father’. Not like I hesitated for even a second, not with how raw I still was from losing Maddie. Ana and I were never anything more than friends, even being married almost eighteen years for Amanda’s sake, but I’m still raw from losing her and I know it has to be worse for Manda.

After a small eternity, she pats me on the back. “C’mon, Pops, we gotta finish packing. The moving van won’t wait forever.”

Right. We need to vacate so the movers can load the majority of our stuff and haul it to the new house. I stuff the photos back into the box and tape it shut. We grab our travel bags, pile into the car, and take one last look at the old house.

“So many memories here,” I say wistfully. “Hard to believe your mother and I bought this place almost twenty years ago.”

But then again…that’s why we’re moving. Too many memories. We reminisce for a while about various windows Amanda broke over the years before joking that there will be plenty of memories to make and things to break at the new place. The moving van guys, who have been hauling boxes from house to van the whole time, file out and give me a thumbs-up as they climb into the van. It begins to pull away, and I get the car into position to follow it. I watch our house – our old house – disappear in the rearview mirror.

“So,” Amanda says slowly, “sell me on our cool new pad?”

This will be the first time she’s seen it. Hell, it’ll be the first time _I’ve_ seen it. I went through a very reputable agency, listed requirements and let them bring me files to read, vetoed some and had others inspected. The first time I had to leave a house because I lost my family was bad enough, and I had a new family to focus on. All I have now is my daughter, and I couldn’t bring myself to do the house-hunting myself. Felt too much like making funeral arrangements. Silver lining of Ana going missing-presumed-dead overseas: no funeral arrangements to make this time.

I clear my throat and do my best cheesy announcer voice. “Nestled in beautiful, scenic downtown Maple Bay, our new house features multiple places to sleep! Not only are there bedrooms for your sleeping pleasure, but couches and floor space where you can, yes, catch a wink.”

“What a deal!” she gushes. “I mean, if sleep weren’t for the weak.”

“You sleep more than anyone I know,” I shoot back with a grin. Sadly, that wasn’t true the first three years of her life. I think I’m _still_ missing sleep from back then.

“I admit my faults, Pops,” she jokes. “I keep it real.”

“Anyway, it’s also smaller than our last house.”

Because of course Ana and I had separate rooms.

“Cozier, one might argue.”

“Good spin,” I say warmly.

“I think it’s great,” Amanda says enthusiastically.

Then she goes on to praise it in such a way that it sounds like she’s trying to weasel out of learning to drive. I neatly dissuade her of that notion, and she changes tactics.

“Have you met the neighbors yet?”

“Not yet, but the neighborhood seems pretty quiet.” Or so I’m told. I haven’t been there myself.

“So you won’t have to chase any rowdy teens off your lawn?” she teases.

“You are the very teen you mock when you say that, honey,” I tease back.

She tries to plead maturity by virtue of being in the last year of high school. I turn it into a Dad Joke.

“I’m just going to ignore that,” she tells me loftily. “But I won’t forget it. So what’s item number one on the New House agenda?”

Oh boy. I have a list. Installing the washer and dryer, grocery shopping…

“Pops, cool your jets. You have to promise me that we’re gonna take a break and explore the neighborhood.”

I promise. The movers have to unload our stuff, after all.

We pull up to the new house and step outside as the movers start unloading the first boxes. It’s beautiful. The lawn is freshly mown and the FOR SALE sign is still in the yard. Amanda kicks it down.

“Nice form, sweet pea!” I call to her. Good to see she retained _something_ from the martial arts classes Ana had us all take when she was little.

Amanda cheerfully angles for an ice cream sandwich. I counter with coffee, because I’m not sure when I fell asleep but it does _not_ feel like I got anything resembling a good night’s sleep.

“I think we passed a coffee shop on the way here,” she offers. “Maybe we could check that out.”

We passed a coffee shop and I didn’t even notice? I _really_ need that caffeine. “Let’s do it!”

We walk down the street to The Coffee Spoon, a cute little place on the corner.

“Man, this is in such convenient walking distance from our place,” Amanda enthuses. I suspect she just doesn’t want to deal with driving.

I’m not as enthused, because a part of me still feels like moving is just running away from the reality of Ana’s death, and the thought of having to find a new circle of friends as a widower is somehow worse than having to do it as an orphan. My protests are lame, and I know it.

Amanda knows it, too. “Dad…are you just afraid to meet new people?”

I sigh. “Yes, Amanda.”

We walk inside. The coffee shop is…incredibly warm and inviting. The barista is a hip-looking man with darker skin, ink on his left arm, and dreads. He greets us, Amanda asks about the name of the shop, and he rambles about how it was mentioned in a poem he likes but he’s not sure it was a good idea. It’s…endearing.

“So,” he says after a slightly-awkward silence, “what’ll it be?”

I scan the menu. I have no idea what half of these are.

“I’ll have a…” Well, I know what chai is, at least. “…Chai Antwoord.”

“Spicy,” Mat says approvingly.

“I don’t get it,” I say somewhat apologetically.

“Oh, it’s a pun,” he explains. “Die Antwoord is a South African rap group…they’re pretty well known for their…uh, evocative imagery and hyper-stylized music videos. Their music is as catchy as it is disturbing.”

I’m not sure that’s the first impression I wanted to make, but I’m stuck with it now. Amanda places her order, and Mat ducks away to make our drinks while we take a seat on one of the couches. It’s actually pretty comfy. Good lumbar support. Actually, I think it’s comfier than our couch.

Amanda nudges me. “This place is right next to our house and that guy seems not only cool, but also just as uncomfortable with talking to other people as you are. You should totally become friends with him.”

I’d actually been thinking the same thing, but as her father I’m obligated to give her a hard time, so I pretend to be more reluctant about socializing than I actually feel. Mat comes back and sets our drinks down, and my little girl immediately jumps in to play friend-maker.

“We’re new in the neighborhood! I’m Amanda, and this is my Dad, Jack!”

Mat brightens. “Oh, right on! Pleased to meet you both!”

I guess being neighbors automatically gets us another level of friendliness.

“You oughta come by when my daughter’s hanging around the shop,” he continues. “You two might get along.”

“Yeah, I’m sure we’ll maybe come in from time to time,” I say to rile Amanda up. She kicks my leg from under the table. “I’m sure we’ll be in here a lot,” I assure Mat, who grins. He didn’t miss that little exchange.

“You know what? Let me get your guys’ opinion on something,” he blurts out. He darts into the back and comes out with a fresh plate of something that smells amazing. “I’m working on a new banana bread recipe and I need help coming up with a name for it,” he says as he offers us the plate.

Amanda and I each take a still-warm slice and chow down. It tastes just as good as it smells.

“I think I might only be able to give you Dad band puns, but I’ll give it a shot.”

“Most of my menu is band puns,” he points out.

I chew it over, literally and figuratively. Bread…bread…dead? Head? Said? Said…Fred. That’s it! “Right Said Banana Bread? Like Right Said Fred, but now it’s about banana bread.”

“That…actually has a nice ring to it,” Mat says, giving me a slow smile.

We joke around a little more, and yeah, I’m totally going to be in here several times a week. There’s only so much cleaning and cooking to be done while Amanda’s in school, and I’m going to need adult conversation. As I’m glancing around, thinking of the place as ‘a place where I’ll be spending time’, a man catches my eye. He’s sitting by himself, brooding over a cup of coffee, and our eyes meet just for a moment. I’ve never put any stock into any of that ‘love at first sight’ or ‘I knew the moment I saw him’ crap, but I felt…something. I hastily look away, hoping he didn’t catch me staring, wanting to ask Mat about him but not wanting to admit that I’m interested because those dark, soulful eyes were set in a haggard and unshaven face and the only reason I’m sure he’s not homeless is he hasn’t pawned that leather jacket for food.

Amanda and I finish up our drinks and head out. I can see the moving van still in front of our house, so we head to the park. I need to send my real estate agent a fruit basket or something, she did an incredible job. The neighborhood is _beautiful._ Kids are playing in the street, the flowers are in bloom, and the faint smell of woodsmoke and delicious meat drifts through the air. I mention it to Amanda, and we joke with each other until we get to the park. It looks like a great place to play, there’s a playground with toddlers shrieking gleefully and chasing each other around, and plenty of grassy area where people are playing with their dogs.

As we’re heading to an empty bench to do some people-watching, a Frisbee clocks me in the face and the corgi that had been chasing it gets distracted by us. I can’t help but pet him.

“You definitely coulda caught that,” calls a boisterous voice I assume belongs to the corgi’s owner. He’s a chunky but friendly-looking guy in a Hawaiian shirt who jogs over to claim his Frisbee. “You know, Frisbees are traditionally caught with your hands, not your face.”

Oh, no. I know his type. The one-upper. “It’s a new technique,” I tell him loftily. “It’s like disc golf, but the goal is my face. Looks like you’re winning.” There; I’ve simultaneously reframed the event and taken control of it while delivering him the point.

He grins. “Ha! I’m just messin’ with ya. I’m Brian, by the way.”

Good, I have established that I am neither a threat or a target. “I’m Jack,” I say, shaking his hand warmly but not too firmly, “and this is my daughter, Amanda.”

Amanda is ignoring everything to lavish attention on the dog. He loves it.

“It’s great to see another father and daughter out here on such a sunny day,” he says with a hint of challenge, gesturing to a young girl on a checkered blanket reading a book bigger than her head. She puts it down and heads over to us. “This is Daisy,” he says proudly, draping his arm around her shoulders.

She’s just as chunky as he is, but wearing flannel instead of something more brightly-colored. They’ve both got the same red hair and freckles, and I’m suddenly aware that I look _nothing_ like Amanda. That’s going to lead to awkward questions, I just know it.

“She’s reading the Brothers Karamazov,” Brian explains. “Her teacher tells me that she has the reading comprehension skills of a highschooler.”

And probably the social skills of… “How old is she?”

“Ten! She’s a precocious little youngster!”

…yeah, she’s going to have social skills problems if he keeps letting her isolate herself. It’s a struggle to not say that out loud. It’s not my business, we’ll probably only see them occasionally at the park-

“So, I take it you guys are new to the neighborhood?”

Oh, please no. “We just moved in,” I say warily. “Do you live around here?”

“Yeah, we live in that cul-de-sac down next to the coffee shop.”

Fuck.

Amanda puts her hands on her hips. She doesn’t like the insinuation that Daisy is better than her any more than I do. “What a coincidence! That’s where we live, too!”

Whatever she’s planning, I’m torn between enabling it and talking her down.

“Small world! Yeah, Daisy and I are in that little ranch-style house on the corner.”

I saw that house. It’s just like ours, but slightly bigger and better-landscaped. Who is he competing against? Thankfully, a simple compliment and he graciously excuses himself and his daughter – but not before giving us an open invitation to “stop by” at some point.

Amanda noticed the one-upping thing, but she’s not shaken by it. I’ve raised her right. We walk around for a bit until I get a text from the movers that they’re done, and we head back to the house to set up beds so we’re not sleeping on the floor tonight. Or for the second night in a row, in my case. Amanda vanishes into her new room and I discover that the movers have thankfully put my bed together for me. Now to find sheets to put on it…

I get to work unpacking the various boxes around the living room. A couple hours pass, and I get some good work done. The washer and dryer are both washing and drying, and we can actually walk through the living room without tripping over boxes. Then the doorbell rings, and I’m suddenly afraid it’s Brian, but I look through the peephole and it’s a handsome, clean-cut man brandishing a plate of cookies. He looks like he’s taking the Caucasian Blond Domestic Dad shtick seriously enough to kill any rivals and also any fun he might potentially be having. I paste a smile on my face and open the door.

“Hello-”

“Oh, where are my manners? My name is Joseph. I’m your next door neighbor.”

Wow, jeez. Don’t wait for a lapse in manners before you apologize for lacking them, Joe. My hackles rise in a way they didn’t with Brian. Bring it, Middle-Class Dad of the Year. I bet I’ve been doing this longer than you have, and better.

“I’m Jack,” I say with as much warm enthusiasm as I can muster.

“I saw the moving van and thought I’d bring over some cookies. My daughter Christie wanted me to let you know she baked them herself.”

Okay, maybe he’s _not_ the Domestic Dad I thought he was, if his daughter baked them.

Joseph leans in and whispers, “But between you and me, she just sprinkled in the chocolate chips.”

Then he laughs, and I give it a few fake chuckles, but inside I’m seething. You think that’s _funny?_ To laugh at your own daughter like that? To give her that credit and then take it away instead of just saying ‘my daughter helped make them’? I think back to when Amanda was six or seven, and she wanted to make cookies to welcome her mom back from deployment. It took her forever, and I had to help her crack the eggs, but she did at least three-fourths of the work herself and Ana and I were both _so proud_ of her.

As if I had summoned her with my mind, she appears at my side. “Wow, cookies, huh? So nice to meet you!” Joseph smiles and hands her the plate of cookies. “Well, thanks for the cookies,” she says, and then she’s gone. With the cookies.

“That’s my daughter,” I say dryly. “Her name is Amanda.”

“Daughters are tough,” Joseph says sympathetically. Then he grimaces a little. “Sons are also tough. Children in general are just…tough.”

My smile turns brittle. If kids are so tough, maybe you shouldn’t be a dad. Not that Ana was in any way a bad mom, but she took care of Amanda while I was in college and confessed that she didn’t know how my father had managed to raise both Maddie and myself. When I told her that I’d done it all, she was _furious_ that someone with no interest in keeping his offspring alive had been allowed to have custody of them.

I have to say something. Something not insulting. “I hear that,” I tell Joseph neutrally. “I wouldn’t want to try to raise more than two by myself. There’d have to be something wrong with anyone who tried without having a second parent actively helping.”

Joseph’s fake-friendly smile flickers out. “I have four kids.”

And that tells me more than I needed to know about the state of his – I glance at his hands and note the wedding ring – marriage. Okay, don’t panic, try to change the subject without bringing that up.

“Oh…uh, I meant…” Nope. Can’t talk about the children’s welfare or time concerns or…

“Don’t worry. You didn’t mean to be rude.”

Look, buddy, you’re the one who said children are tough. And I bet you already knew that when you had babies three and/or four, so what’s your excuse? Are you one of those martyr parents, look at me suffering while I use my kids as props and make them suffer for my suffering? God, I want to punch him in the face.

“Uhhhhh…yeah. Okay.”

Smooth, Jack. Real smooth. But hey, you didn’t punch him in the face, so kudos to you!

“Is the missus around?” Joseph asks, and apparently I’ve been discounted as The One Who Runs The Household. Nice display of 1950s sexism from a man wearing a pink polo.

“No,” I say shortly. “Not anymore. She died.”

Joseph looks like he’s trying to swallow a hedgehog. The Hedgehog of Humiliation.

“That’s why we moved,” I explain quietly. “Too many memories at our old house.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he says hollowly.

He doesn’t really mean it. He’s sorry for his loss of social position in my eyes. I’m a better martyr than he is.

“No, no, it’s alright,” I tell him with weariness I’d actually feel if I weren’t still bristling. “You didn’t know. I just couldn’t bear to take the ring off yet.”

We both stand there quietly for a moment, acutely aware of how awkward things are, me gloating and him probably trying to figure out how he can reclaim his position of social superiority.

“I’m sorry,” Joseph says, breaking the silence. “Can you…close the door real quick?”

Confused, I close the door. After a second, I hear a knock and open it again to see Joseph standing there with a huge smile. Still fake. Maybe more fake.

“Hey, I’m your new neighbor, Joseph! I promise to not talk about your dead spouse. I’m throwing a barbeque for the cul-de-sac this weekend and I’d love for you to come by and meet the rest of the neighbors in our community. Whadya say, pal?”

So far the only neighbors I know are Joseph and Brian, and that doesn’t exactly fill me with confidence, but if I want the foreseeable future in this lovely neighborhood to be smooth, I better make nice with the neighbors. I give him an equally huge fake smile.

“That sounds great. My daughter and I would love to stop by. Any food allergies or dietary restrictions I should keep in mind?”

Joseph’s smile dims a hair. Ooh, I’ve still got the upper hand. “No allergies,” he says, “but we’ve got some vegetarians in the neighborhood.”

“Lacto-ovo vegetarians?”

The smile goes down another notch. “Eggs and cheese are fine.”

My smile gets brighter. “Alright! I know just what to make, then.”

We shake hands to seal the deal.

“Well, neighbor,” he says brightly, “I’ll see you at 3 PM sharp on Saturday!”

Nope. You’ll see me at two so I can offer to help set up. “Sure thing, neighbor!”

He starts to walk away, but stops and turns back around. “Hey, in all seriousness, raising a kid on your own can’t be easy. If you ever need to…talk about…stuff…I’m the youth minister at a church down the street.”

Nice try, but this ain’t my first rodeo and if the first 17 and a half years didn’t break me, the last few months to graduation sure as hell won’t.

“Oh, I dunno…I wouldn’t really consider myself a youth.”

He smiles, but it’s somehow…either patronizing or predatory. “You look pretty young to me, but suit yourself!”

And with that, thankfully, he’s gone. I stare out the open door for a long minute, bristling, before closing it. The sound summons Amanda from where she was lurking in the hall.

“He seemed…nice,” she says with an audible lack of sincerity. The plate is nowhere to be seen.

“Where’d those cookies go?” It is kind of past lunchtime…

“They’re gone. I’m sorry.” Amanda manages to make it sound like she’s a doctor breaking bad news to the family. Then she grins. “If it makes you feel any better, they weren’t very good.”

I arch an eyebrow at her. “So you ate all of them anyway?”

She snorts. “Who said anything about eating? I threw ‘em out. They _really_ weren’t very good.”

That makes me laugh. “I guess that makes it break time.”

“Any ideas?”

“Well…we still need to go grocery shopping.”

Amanda grins. “And pick up ingredients for something to take to the barbecue?”

I ruffle her hair. “You know it, Manda Panda. Let’s go.”

“Can we make cookies, too?”

Her grin gets wider. I grin back. “I think we get a ton of Good Neighbor points if we bring his plate back with cookies of our own on it.”

“We’re gonna be the be the best neighbors in the whole cul-de-sac!”

“We’re gonna kick the other neighbors’ butts. With kindness.”

We high five on our way out to the car.

 

* * *

 

As we’re loading groceries into the car, a jogger with a baby hails me and holy shit, it’s Craig. We catch up, and I’m floored. He cleaned his act up, married Smashley – Ashley, but she actually still goes by that, go figure – had _three kids_ and divorced. He’s gone from Keg-Stand King to that guy who jogs daily and keeps jogging in place waiting for the crosswalk to keep his heart rate up. We exchange numbers and promise to get together and he dashes off.

Once the groceries are in the fridge, Amanda and I make sandwiches and flop down onto the couch. She kicks one of the empty boxes.

“Too bad we’re gonna be putting my stuff right back into these boxes in a few months.”

I groan. “Noooo, don’t say that!”

“Aww, Dad, it’s gonna be okay. I’ll be fine!”

I know she will. It’s me I’m worried about. She picks up on that, though, and reassures me that she’ll keep in touch. We joke about me filling the void by getting a dog, and her staying home for the dog. A pile of envelopes slides through the mail slot – good to know when the mail gets delivered – and she darts over to check for acceptance letters. Unfortunately, what she got was the opposite of that. I try to cheer her up by pointing out that a school who only wanted portraits in her portfolio clearly wasn’t a good fit for her. She says she’s fine, but I know she’s going to worry about it until another school accepts her. Then she reminds me that The Emmas are sleeping over to see the new place, and I promise to vacate. I have no idea what I’m going to do besides explore the neighborhood, but hey, I should be doing that anyway, right? Right.

I joke that I’m going to go watch The Game. She jokes about the drugs and crime she and The Emmas are going to get into. She vanishes back into her room to make sure everything is ready for a sleepover, and I do a bit more cleaning. Mostly flattening empty boxes and bringing them down to the basement for safekeeping until they’re needed again and getting my room ready for me to crash out in later. Right before The Emmas are due to arrive, I let Amanda know I’m heading out and go wandering.

It actually doesn’t take me long to find a bar, albeit a tiny dive bar. But hey, there’s a game on and people who go to tiny dive bars aren’t likely to be real chatty, right? I push open the door and enter Jim and Kim’s. It’s small and dimly lit with a handful of tables, some booths, and a pool table in the back. I take a seat at the bar and order a Coke. The bartender, it turns out, is neither Jim nor Kim but Neil. I sip my Coke and check out the game. I have no idea who either of the teams are, but one’s just as good as the other to me so I silently root for the one who’s in the lead anyway.

A middle-aged woman holding a nearly-empty wine glass sidles up to the bar and sits uncomfortably close to me. She actually calls me ‘sailor’. I didn’t think that was a thing people actually did. I give her a brusque hello, hoping she’ll go away. No such luck.

“Good to see fresh meat in here. I’m Mary. Come here often?”

I almost ask her why she bothered to ask, since she’s apparently in here enough to know when “fresh meat” has arrived, but I don’t. I tell her I just moved into the neighborhood and turn back to the game without introducing myself.

“Are you watching the game?”

“I’m trying to,” I say pointedly.

Mary continues trying to drunkenly hit on me before asking me to buy her a drink, but I decline.

“Suit yourself, sailor,” she tells me in a tone that’s trying to convey that I’m missing out, but she abandons me for the guy that just walked in so I’m happy.

I sit in comfortable silence, watching the game and sipping my Coke. Neil appears as I empty the glass and asks if I want another. I tell him yes, please, and sip my second Coke while the other team closes the score gap. When the other team takes the lead, another man at the bar lets out a satisfied grunt and mutters, “Go team.”

Oh shit, it’s the brooding man from The Coffee Spoon. He’s sipping whiskey, and from here I can tell that neither he nor his clothes have been within spitting distance of soap for several days. He looks like he hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in the last month, and he probably hasn’t had a good meal in even longer. And yet…my fingers are itching to comb his disheveled hair. I want to cook for him. And I wonder what he’d look like if he smiled. It has to be the impending Empty Nest syndrome, the uncertainty of what I’ll do with myself if I don’t have someone to take care of when Amanda goes to college, but I’m feeling… _things_. Things I have no frame of reference for and am not entirely sure I want to explore with a man who might need to be flea-dipped before I’d be comfortable getting closer than arm’s length to.

And yet, I find myself saying, “Enjoying the game?”

“I am now that we’re winning,” he replies.

“Oh, we must be rooting for different teams.”

Jack, what are you doing? Are you seriously teasing the man who looks like he’d stab you in a dark alley and take your wallet?

He sips his whiskey. “In my opinion, my team is far superior.”

“I have to disagree with that,” I counter lightly. “Based on our win/loss record, I’d say that my team is superior.”

Oh my god I’m going to get stabbed in a dark alley. What am I doing??

“That’s where you’re wrong,” he says with dark satisfaction, “since as it stands right now, my team is beating yours.”

All I can think of are sexually suggestive phrases involving the word “beating” so I bite my tongue and pretend to get engrossed in the game. Thankfully, the other guy lets it drop, but I’m pretty sure I’m blushing. Fuck. The game is pretty close, but in the end, ‘my’ team wins and quiet cheers ripple throughout the bar. I’m irrationally afraid the dangerous disheveled man is going to leave, and raise my glass in a silent toast to him. He raises his in response, and then Neil’s there pouring him another glass.

“Get him another…whatever he’s having,” the man tells Neil. Then he turns to me. “Is that a Jack and Coke?”

“Together, we’re Jack and Coke,” I joke. “I’m Jack. Nice to meet you. I wasn’t really rooting for that team, by the way. I was just pulling your leg. I have no idea who either of those teams are.”

He had been about to take a drink, but he puts his glass down and looks away, like he’s choking back a laugh. “Robert,” he concedes. Then, like he can’t help himself, “You're in a bar, on a Thursday night, drinking straight Coke?”

I shrug. “I don’t drink. I’ve got nothing against it, just…not for me.”

Robert scowls like I’ve personally offended him. “Why not?”

“Well, I always felt like my dad liked the sauce more than he liked me, on account of my middle name.”

“…which is?”

“Daniel.” I give him a lopsided smile. “I was about ten or twelve before I figured out why there were so many glass bottles with my name on them in the house.”

Robert looks away again. It’s a long minute before he says, “You must be new here. Mary already hit on you?”

“Yeah.”

He chuckles. “Mary’s a peach. Well, you picked the best bar in town,” he says in something that’s still a growl but sounds almost friendly at the same time. “As slimy as it is, you’ll never find a better spot than Jim and Kim’s.”

“Is there actually a Jim or Kim that run the place?” I can’t help but ask.

 “No. That’d be Neil. Good guy, Neil. Not enough Neils in this world.”

“O…kay,” I say slowly, wondering how drunk Robert is.

Robert gestures Neil over again. “Another Coke for Jack.” Then he toasts me with his whiskey. “Here’s to your health.”

I sip my Coke, unsure how I apparently became friends with a man who looks like he sleeps in dark alleys and yet makes me feel like he’s out of my league.

And, of course, nothing explains why I find myself saying, “Your face…is…good.” Oh my god, am I trying to flirt with Robert? What is _wrong_ with me?

But Robert looks pleasantly surprised, and mutters, “Thanks.” He signals for another whiskey and asks, “What are you doing here tonight, if you weren’t here for the game or to get drunk?”

“Trying to make friends?”

Jack. Jack, stop it.

“I mean…I just moved into the neighborhood and thought it would be a good idea to…put myself out there. And you seem pretty cool, so…”

Robert snorts. “The key to being cool is acting like you don’t care about anything but actually care very deeply about everything to the point where it’s debilitating.”

That…wasn’t a growl. I think he was being honest.

“Really?”

He downs the rest of his drink. “Of course not.”

“Then I have to say, I only came here because I’m running from my problems.” Which…actually is kind of honest.

“I like your style,” Robert says with a quirk of the lips that might have been a smirk.

“Well, by ‘my problems’ I mean the sleepover my daughter’s having,” I admit.

“Hm. Family-type, huh?”

“Single dad.”

Robert nods and stands up. “Be right back. Have to powder my nose.”

“Never seen Robert this talkative,” Neil says from _right beside me_ , holy shit. “He must like you.”

Great. Now I’m blushing for sure _and_ my pulse is racing. I sip my Coke, trying to calm down before Robert gets back. When he comes back from the bathroom, he grabs his leather jacket.

“I’m gonna go home,” he says brusquely. “You heading my way?”

We pay our tabs and leave the bar. I’m not sure which way is “my way”, but Robert starts walking in the direction of the cul-de-sac and I follow because, well, I _am_ heading his way.

“I live in this cul-de-sac down the way,” he says, and all I can think of is that he’s going to be at Joseph’s barbecue on Saturday.

“Me too,” I tell him. “Just moved in today, still haven’t finished unpacking.”

“Great place to be,” he says shortly. “Good neighbors. Well, some of them.”

I kind of want to ask if Joseph is one of the good neighbors but also kind of don’t. We get to Robert’s house, which is just a few houses away from mine. Wait, which one is mine? Robert stops and turns to me.

“I don’t kiss and tell, Jack.”

Wait, kissing? When did we start talking about kissing? My face feels like it’s on fire. Hopefully the darkness hides that.

“So. Are we doing this, or what?” Robert asks.

“What?”

“You know. Do you wanna come inside, or not?”

A wave of realization rushes over me and I feel like I’m fourteen. He’s hitting on me. He’s _hitting_ on me. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what I _want_ to do.

…he’s also drunk and needs a shower badly, I remember as the wind shifts.

“If you’re really interested,” I say slowly, “ask me when you’re sober. Your consent is questionable at best right now, and the only way I’m coming inside your house is if you need help getting to bed safely.”

Robert scowls. “Your loss. Door’s unlocked if you change your mind.”

With that, he pushes past me and goes into the house, the door barely closing behind him. Sure enough, he didn’t lock it. I head down the sidewalk and slip into my house, making sure to lock the door. Amanda’s room is quiet. I go to bed, thinking of Robert and making plans for the morning.


	2. Barbecue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You know what they say about the way to a man's heart, and Jack does like to cook. Unfortunately, it's not going to be as straightforward as that. But he's already got his metaphoric foot in the door, as the neighbors are about to discover...

I’m up at the crack of dawn making pancakes and bacon and scrambling eggs. I leave a note for Amanda letting her know where I am and that breakfast’s in the oven to keep warm, and then I toss some ingredients into an insulated lunch bag and head over to Robert’s, making sure to lock my door behind me. Before I get there, Craig leaves his house and jogs up to me.

“Bro! You ready to hit the asphalt?”

I shake my head. “Not this morning. Met a neighbor last night who is in _desperate_ need of a good breakfast this morning, so…” I don’t have to finish the sentence. Craig knows about my mother-hen nature; that’s how we _met_.

“Wait…” his eyes widen. “Robert?”

All I can do is grimace.

Craig puts his hands on my shoulders and looks at me solemnly. “You’ve got your work cut out for you, bro. Good luck.”

“Thanks…I think.”

He steps back and gives me a salute. “Go forth and make biscuits, Jack. God knows if anyone needs them, it’s Rob.”

I salute back, and he jogs off.

As promised, Robert’s door is still unlocked. Thankfully, he has a pretty nice coffee maker and some decent coffee. I get that started and try to find a clean glass, but settle for washing one and filling it with water. There’s a bottle of aspirin in the medicine cabinet, and I leave a couple along with the water where he can reach them easily when he wakes up. He’s sprawled in bed, still fully-clothed. He actually has nice furniture and electronics, but the place is a pigsty. I wash the dishes and utensils I’ll need, set the oven to heat, and start making breakfast.

I hear quiet cursing from the bedroom just after putting the biscuits in, followed by silence and then a very clear, “…the _fuck_.” There’s more sounds of someone stirring while I scramble eggs and fry bacon, and then I’ve got those plated and covered and the coffee’s done. It takes a bit of shuffling, but I manage to get breakfast onto the table and the dirty dishes from the table into the sink, wash mugs and pour coffee, and then the biscuits come out and get added to the plates. Robert still hasn’t emerged. May as well get started on the dishes while I’m waiting.

“What the _fuck_ ,” Robert says a few minutes later.

I rinse the dish I’m holding, then my hands, and turn around. “Breakfast and coffee on the table,” I tell him.

He glowers at me, but sits and starts eating. I put the dish in the drainer and join him, eating my own breakfast. After a minute or two, Amanda pushes the door gingerly open and grins when she sees me.

“Hey, Dad, thanks for breakfast. The Emmas and I are off to school. Remember you have that meeting with my teacher later!”

“I remember,” I assure her. “Go, be good, I’ll see you after the meeting. Love you, Manda Panda.”

She looks a little embarrassed, what with Robert watching, but she’s grinning too. “Love you too, Dad.”

Robert’s giving me a piercing look I know all too well.

“Yes, she’s mine. No, not biologically. No, she’s not adopted. I married her mother shortly before she was born and it’s my name on the birth certificate.”

That gets me a look of quiet understanding. “How long…?”

I sigh. “It’s only been two…almost three months since we got the news that she was declared missing in action, probably dead. She was shot in enemy territory. We know she’s dead, they just couldn’t find or retrieve her body.”

Robert looks away. “I’m sorry,” he says, and he sounds more sincere than Joseph did. “It’s been…a few years since my wife died. I’d like to say it gets better…”

I put my hand comfortingly on his. “That’s why we moved. Why I’m trying to make friends. We weren’t… _in_ love exactly. We were friends raising the same child, but…”

Robert’s hand twists under mine until we’re holding hands. “Loss is loss,” he growls. “You ever need to talk…”

My throat’s too tight to talk. I nod, and he nods back. Yeah, this is what making friends feels like. We go back to eating, but Robert looks less like he’ll stab me if I move too fast. I pack the rest of the biscuits in a Ziploc and tuck them into his fridge before taking the dishes to the sink.

“I need to do the dishes at my place,” I tell him. “Maybe finish unpacking the kitchen stuff too, but later I’ll be baking cookies so I’m not just giving Joseph back an empty plate. The recipe makes four dozen, though, so you’re welcome to come over and have some if you want. I figure two dozen for Joseph’s family, one for me and Amanda, but that still leaves me with extra cookies and I don’t want to start a baking war by giving them to Brian.”

Robert chokes on a laugh. “Fine. Two hours?”

I smile in relief. “Two hours. See you then.”

The short distance back to my place, I feel like I’m floating. _Fuck_ , what’s wrong with me? Still…Craig knows Robert and he didn’t try to warn me away, so that’s deeply reassuring. I prepare the cookie dough and put it in the fridge to chill before cleaning up from breakfast and unpacking the boxes that say KITCHEN.

About two hours later, there’s a “Hey” from the entryway and I peer out to grin at Robert because he’s _here_ , he actually came, and I’m acting like a teenager with a crush. Fuck. I have a crush on Robert. Jack, what is _wrong_ with you? I gesture him into the kitchen and turn the oven on, and as he sits awkwardly at the table I notice that he showered and put on…okay maybe they’re not _clean_ clothes, but they’re considerably less soiled and wrinkled.

“Place looks good,” he says tersely.

“It’s still kind of a mess…”

He snorts. “Cleaner than my place.”

Don’t say anything, Jack. Don’t fuck this up. I pull out the cookie sheets and the bowl of dough. “Want to help me prep the sheets while the oven heats up?”

Robert gives me a borderline hostile look and then shrugs. “Sure.”

I hand him a spoon, keeping two for myself. “Just scoop about this much…” I use one of my spoons to demonstrate. “…and hand it to me. I’ll scoop it onto the cookie sheet and hand it back. Worked the technique out with Amanda, and it halves the prep time.”

He scoops the dough and looks at it skeptically. I scrape my spoonful off using the back of the third spoon and hand the now-empty spoon to him in exchange for the full one. He scoops while I scrape, and in no time we have four dozen cookies.

“There’s still some in the bowl.”

I grin at him. “D’you want to eat the leftover bits, or should I?”

Again, I get an almost-hostile look, but he scrapes his spoon around the side until he’s got a good mouthful of dough, then he hands the bowl to me and sticks the spoon in his mouth. I scrape one of my spoons around getting the last bits, and we enjoy our treat in silence until the oven beeps to let us know it’s pre-heated. I slide two trays in, side-by-side, and amend my mental note to send the real estate agent an Edible Arrangement with chocolate-dipped fruit because this oven is _amazing_. I offer Robert a drink while we wait for the cookies to bake, juice or milk or soda or water, and reluctantly he lets me pour him a glass of water. I clean up while we’re waiting, and then it’s time to check the cookies. They’re done, so I do the dance of transference and set the timer for the other two dozen.

“I want to get these over to Joseph while the others are baking,” I tell Robert. “You know…deliver them while they’re still warm. You can wait here if you want. It should only take a minute, but if the timer goes off…use your best judgment on if the cookies are done and don’t feel like you have to wait for me before digging in.”

A tiny, tiiiiiny smirk flashes across his face. “Fine.”

I transfer hot cookies from the trays to Joseph’s plate and slip outside. Judging by the blond kids in the yard of the house to the left, I’m going to guess that’s Joseph’s. They watch me as I go up the front walk, just creepily staring. I ring the doorbell.

Joseph answers the door, looking confused and dismayed for a moment before covering it up with a wide smile. “Jack! How good to see you!”

“I brought your plate back,” I tell him, holding it out. “But I didn’t feel right just bringing it back empty, so I thought I’d return your favor.”

He takes the plate, looking uncertain as he realizes the cookies are still warm.

“And I hate to run, but I’ve got the other half of the batch in the oven, so…”

“No, no, you go make sure the cookies are okay,” he says somewhat distantly.

“Great. I’ll see you tomorrow then. Looking forward to it!” Or I am, now that I know Craig and Robert live here, too.

Joseph smiles at me, I wave, and then I jog back over to my house. There’s still five minutes left on the timer.

“Do his kids even talk?” I ask rhetorically as I sit down at the table.

Robert snorts.

“Listen,” I say quietly, “I know how much empty houses suck. Ana was gone most of the time on deployment. If you ever just need to be around people and you don’t want to go to Jim and Kim’s, you’re welcome to come here.”

He looks away. “…maybe.”

“I’m just going to unpack after the cookies are done, but if you want to hang out…”

Quietly, he says, “Sure.”

Oh my _god_ I have a crush on the most anti-social person I’ve met in this neighborhood. The first crush I’ve ever had, and it’s the guy who looks like something the proverbial cat dragged in. What the _fuck_ is wrong with me?

Luckily, the timer goes off and the second half of the cookies are done. I take the trays out and grab some plates. Six for me, six for Amanda, and I stack the other dozen on the third plate for Robert. “Milk?” I ask as I set our plates on the table, and he gives me a tiny nod. I pour two glasses. “Here’s to warm chocolate-chip cookies,” I say, lifting my glass and toasting him with it.

Robert’s already got an entire cookie in his mouth, so it’s hard to read his expression, but I don’t _think_ it’s hostile. He swallows half the cookie and mumbles, “I’ll drink to that.” Our glasses clink gently as he touches his to mine.

We sit in comfortable silence, stuffing ourselves with warm cookies and cold milk. While I’m eating my last cookie, Robert shoves three from his plate to mine.

“You’re sure?” I ask gently.

He grunts. “You made ‘em.”

“But you’re my guest.”

He grunts again and looks away.

“Thank you,” I practically whisper. Oh my god I’m smitten, someone help me.

We eat the last cookies, drain our glasses, and sigh in contentment.

“Make yourself at home while I unpack,” I say after a minute. “I mean that. Watch anything you want, eat and drink anything you want, feet on the couch, the whole nine yards.”

That gets me the borderline-hostile look again, but he nods and we go into the living room. A few hours pass while I unpack to the sounds of whatever Robert’s got the TV on at the moment, and finally the last box is empty.

“Whew! I think it’s time for lunch.” I grin at my guest. “How about you?”

He looks away and shrugs.

“I didn’t have anything fancy planned, just sandwiches and chips, but you’re welcome to join me if you’re hungry.”

Robert’s stomach growls. He doesn’t look at me, but he does say “…yeah.” in a low voice.

“Roast beef okay?”

Tiny nod.

“Provolone, lettuce, mayo, and mustard?”

He gives me a suspicious look. “Brown, or yellow?”

“Brown.”

“Yeah.”

“Juice, soda, milk, more water?” The last option gets me another tiny nod. “Okay. Be right back.”

I throw two generous sandwiches together along with a generous handful of chips on a pair of plates. I try to resist putting the mustard on Robert’s in the shape of a heart, but wind up doing it anyway and then have to spread it around with a knife. Robert’s found some foreign movie with subtitles, and he looks pretty into it, so I hand him his plate and refill his glass before sitting next to him with my own lunch. We eat and watch in silence, all the way through the credits, and he looks so… _relaxed_. I could look at him for hours. Oh my god I’m a sap.

He stirs as the credits end, and I grab his plate so he doesn’t see me looking.

“I’ll just take these into the kitchen,” I say as I flee.

When I come back, Robert’s hovering uncomfortably by the door.

“I should…go do…clothes,” he mutters.

“Do you want company?” It’s out of my mouth before I even realized I was going to say something, and I know the instant my mouth closes that it was the wrong thing to do.

Robert scowls at me. “It’s _laundry_. I don’t need a fucking chaperone. We’re neighbors, not bosom buddies, and we’re not glued at the goddamn hip!”

There’s no way in hell I don’t look like I just got stabbed in the heart, especially not with how guiltily Robert looks away.

“O—okay,” I stutter, half of my brain still in shock. “I’ll…see you at the barbecue tomorrow?”

It feels like an eternity before Robert mutters, “Yeah.”

Then he’s gone, the door slamming shut behind him, and I have no idea if I fucked up or not.

 

* * *

 

As I drive to the high school for my meeting with Mr. Vega, my thoughts run in an extremely dumb circle. I should have given my number to Robert. I could slip it through his mail slot. But I'll see him at Joseph's tomorrow. But that's tomorrow. I'd bet $20 that he's going drinking again tonight, and I know the bar is in easy walking distance, but what if...?

Jack. Stop it. He's a grown man, he can take care of himself. Somewhat. Maybe. Anyway, I'm at the school now so I'll worry about Robert later.

The secretary gives me a visitor badge and tells me roughly where Mr. Vega's classroom is, but the doors aren't clearly numbered and I'm a little early, so some punk-goth kid and I sort of stare each other down in the hall until the period ends and Mr. Vega looks out, sees me, and waves me over. Turns out he asked me to talk to him because Amanda's falling behind in terms of handing in assignments. He pulls out his gradebook and we discuss the last few months, Ana's death and the move, but the timing is wrong. It doesn't seem to be related to either event. I promise Hugo - he insisted I call him Hugo - that I'll talk to her. As I get up to leave, he mentions something about putting together a cheese tray for tomorrow.

"Tomorrow?" I ask, half curious and half suddenly certain.

"The cul-de-sac I live on is holding a barbecue," he answers. "Kind of looking forward to it more than usual, because the empty house across the way has new owners and I'm sure they've been invited."

I rattle off my address.

Hugo looks surprised. "How did you- waaaait."

"Yeah. That's where Amanda and I moved to."

"Then I apologize in advance for my son," Hugo sighs. "Ernest is going through a...rebellious phase. But the neighbors are good people, I think you and Amanda will be very happy there."

"Even Robert?" I ask before I can reconsider the wisdom of the words. Jack, what are you doing??

Hugo looks somber. "Robert's been going through some tough times since his wife died. I'd be more worried about him hurting himself than hurting anyone else. Have you...already met him?" he asks, almost wincing.

I nod. "We...kind of had lunch together earlier."

That gets me a look that's half surprised and half impressed. "Well. I daresay you hit it off quite well with Robert, then. Uh... _are_ you coming to the barbecue?"

"Of course! You may smell my marinara sauce cooking tonight. I'm making fried ravioli."

"No meat in that sauce?" he asks warily.

"No meat. Are you one of the vegetarians?"

Hugo shakes his head. "Not me. Damien and his son. They live in the beautiful black house next to Robert's. Have you met any of the other neighbors?"

"Brian," I say slowly, "and I knew Craig in college."

"Oh, that just leaves Mat and his daughter." Hugo looks pleased. "Drop by the coffee place just down from our street, Mat runs it."

"The Coffee Spoon."

"So you _have_ met him! Excellent! We'll see you and Amanda tomorrow, and welcome you properly to the neighborhood." Hugo shakes my hand vigorously, smiling broadly, and I shake and smile back.

"Thank you, and yes. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to send my real estate agent something nice for finding me that house."

Hugo laughs and waves me off.

In the end, the agent gets not only a giant assortment of chocolate-dipped fruit but also a $100 bill stuffed into the tiny gift card with a note of "Most sincere thanks!  - Jack" scribbled inside. Then I head home to start my sauce cooking.

 

* * *

 

Amanda comes in as I’m tossing pizza dough, and the scent of my marinara in the crock pot draws her to the kitchen like a moth to flame.

“So…” she starts warily. “How was your meeting with Mr. Vega?”

“Manda…”

She backs away like I’d brandished a knife at her. “Oh, no. That’s the _we need to have a talk_ voice. What did he tell you? I didn’t do it!”

“That’s exactly the problem,” I say gently. “He’s worried about you, kiddo. He knows you have your sights set on some pretty prestigious schools, and if your grades slip much further, they’re going to put your dreams in jeopardy.”

Amanda slumps and leans against the wall. “I know,” she says in a tired voice.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She’s quiet for a minute. I spread sauce and cheese over the pizza dough.

“I feel like no matter what’s going on, I should just suck it up and deal with it because I know you had it so much worse.”

I drop my handful of cheese and hug her. “Honey, no. It’s not a competition. You’re my daughter and I want you to be happy, _especially_ because I had it so much worse.”

She hugs me back and sniffles. “Why are kids mean, Dad?”

“Because they’re afraid, Panda.” I kiss the top of her head. “They’re afraid of what other people will think and say and do, so they lash out and pretend they’re strong to hide that they feel weak.”

“Like dogs,” she says.

“Yep. Like dogs. And high school is a particularly rough time, because everyone’s trying to figure out who they are between wanting to stay a kid and wanting to be an adult and being afraid of having to go out into the real world.”

She looks up at me. “Were you afraid, Dad?”

That makes me chuckle. “Manda Panda, I didn’t have the time or energy to be afraid.”

“But what about…” she bites her lip, not wanting to bring up the crash. I boop her nose lightly.

“Met your mother that same week.”

Amanda scrunches her nose up at me, then gives me a serious look. “What are you going to do when I go off to college?”

“That’s why I’m making friends, sweet pea. Now…what do you want on this pizza?”

“Just toss a bunch of pepperoni on it,” she says with a grin. “Speaking of friends, tell me about the guy you were having breakfast with this morning.”

I turn away, wrestling with the package of pepperoni and struggling to not blush. “Well, I told you I was going out to watch the game. Turns out there actually was a game on. I found a little bar nearby and figured I could kill time, and he was there. We talked a little, and then discovered we were neighbors…” And then he came on to me. Nope, not saying that. “…and he invited me in but I was too tired, so…”

“And then your Dad Instincts kicked in?” she asks.

“You’ll understand when you see him.”

“I already saw him,” she points out. “And yeah, I totally understand.”

“He lost his wife a few years back,” I say quietly.

Manda winces. “Okay, not only do I understand, but I fully support you bringing him here at any time and gladly welcome my new uncle.”

I finish loading the pizza and slide it into the oven to bake. “We’ll put together some of that new furniture after dinner, and then make the ravioli fresh tomorrow morning.”

“What time is the barbeque?”

“It occurs to me, daughter of mine, that it is being hosted in the next yard over and thus, we can time our entrance perfectly. Joseph said three, but…” I set the timer and shrug. “I’m going to aim for two and see how things go.”

Amanda grins at me. “Sounds good, Dad.”

 

* * *

 

While I roll my pasta dough and fill the ravioli, Amanda watches out of the living room windows to keep track of who’s already arrived. She’s a bit dismayed that Hugo is one of our neighbors, but intrigued by Damien and excitedly calls out a description that makes _me_ intrigued, too. Mat’s daughter, Craig’s twins, and Daisy have her eager to go play as I bread and fry the ravioli, and as I’m taking the last ones out to drain she tells me Robert’s slouched over from his house to Joseph’s. I hand her the paper-towel-lined bowl of piping hot fried ravioli, tongs, and a serving spoon. Then I wrap a towel around the crock pot, and we’re off to meet the neighbors and be social.

Joseph’s already got hot dogs grilling. There’s a sprinkler set up in the back that some of the girls are playing in, and the adults are hanging out in a couple of clusters. There’s friendly greetings called out from a few directions as we make our way to the table and set our burdens down, and then Joseph jogs over to welcome us, arms open wide.

“Welcome! I’m so glad you two are here!”

I’m sure you are, Joe. I’m sure you are.

“And you brought…”

“Fried ravioli and marinara sauce,” I supply. “Four-cheese filling. No meat.”

“How…ambitious,” Joseph says, his smile slipping a bit. “Let me introduce you to my family,” he says brightly, guiding us away from the food.

His kids are _creepy_. It’s also creepy that he’s give them all similar names. Then he calls his wife over because he can’t find the youngest, and it’s the drunk woman from the bar, Mary.

Wait a second. Mary, Joseph, and four kids whose names all sound a lot like _Christ_.

Joseph’s got _problems_. And one of them, it’s painfully obvious, is his marriage. Mary is marginally more attentive than my dad was, but she clearly wants nothing to do with raising the kids or socializing, as she excuses herself to tend to a glass of wine. Joseph tries to cover for her, but I'm pretty sure everyone knows that he’s the only one putting any energy into the fiction of them being a happy couple. He excuses himself to find his youngest child, and Amanda and I sidle back over to the food. Naturally, she piles a plate with cookies and other baked goods, with a small bowl for fried ravioli and marinara. I help myself to some of my own cooking and a deviled egg or three, then peruse Hugo's cheese plate and politely take some veggies from a store-bought tray.

"Ha! At least somebody's eating them!" Brian announces from beside me, ladling marinara over his bowl of fried ravioli. "These smell _amazing,_ Jack, I've really got to hand it to you."

That surprises me. "Really?"

"Oh, sure. I can't cook for love or money unless it's something on a grill, so I just bring veggies for Damien and his boy."

Well, that's more humility than I was expecting, but I'll be gracious about it. "I did all the cooking growing up," I tell him. "Even adapted some things to a campfire. I'd be happy to teach you, if you want."

Brian looks me up and down. "You do much camping, then?"

"I'm a country boy, born and raised. It's not summer unless you go fishing and grill your catch on an open flame." I roll my eyes and grin. "Just try telling that to Amanda, though. She won't have anything to do with the fish until it's done cooking."

That makes him laugh. "I can get Daisy to fish, but then she hands it to me. Say, we should go camping together. Bring the girls."

"That sounds great," I tell him honestly.

Brian spears a ravioli and takes a bite. His mouth splits into an enormous grin as he chews and swallows. "Hey, Hugo! Come and try these! He's a big fan of cheese," Brian tells me in a quieter tone as Hugo nods to Mat and Craig and leaves them to join us.

Hugo helps himself while Brian wanders off, and I watch as he takes a bite. "These are really good," he tells me in pleased surprise. "You made them?"

"From scratch. I don't like the store-bought ones. Too bland."

He eyes the contents of my plate. "Fan of good cheese?" he asks. "There's a little French place that does a good cheese plate, and they hold trivia night once a week. I usually go with Mat and Brian and their girls, and we clean up pretty good, but with you along we could split into two teams and see how good Brian _really_ is."

"That sounds fun," I tell him. "I'm game. Wh-"

"Hold that thought," Hugo says suddenly. "ERNEST HEMINGWAY VEGA, ARE YOU SMOKING??"

A sullen teenage boy in an orange hoodie takes a drag on a cigarette and then flicks it into the gutter. "No."

Hugo storms off, leaving me to nibble on cheese. I guess that answers the question of which boy is his. Maybe I could have Amanda watch him on trivia night.

Craig walks up with River strapped to his chest and gives me a careful hug. "Bro! Good to see you! Aw man, and you made the ravioli!"

"Olive oil," I tell him. "It's got omega-threes. It's good for you. And I used fresh tomatoes in the sauce."

"You had me at olive oil," he says with a grin. Then, in a low voice as he fills a bowl, "Don't worry, bro. I told everyone about your mom and the crash and all that. No one's gonna ask awkward questions."

"Thanks, bro," I tell him. "I mean that. Hey, we still need to catch up some time."

He grins. "Well...I need to get a good jog in tomorrow morning, but if you wanted to stop buy and help with breakfast for the girls, I wouldn't say no."

Well, I need to get back into shape anyway. "Maybe I'll join you for that jog."

Craig's face lights up. "Yeah, bro! I mean...I really _shouldn't_ eat something as unhealthy as your biscuits, but..."

"Gotta treat yourself every once in a while, bro," I tell him with a grin of my own.

"Yeah, and they're _really_ good." He glances around. "Uh...how'd Robert like them?"

"Hard to tell," I admit quietly. "He ate them, at least? And he hung out while I baked cookies and unpacked, and then we watched a movie and had sandwiches for lunch..."

Craig gives me the same look of impressed surprise as Hugo had. "Bro. That's _amazing_. Keep doing your thing, Mr. Mom." He claps me on the shoulder and jogs off to where Hugo is shaking his head at Ernest as he walks off.

I look around for Robert, finally locating him at the small bar in the shade. Before I get more than a few steps closer, though, Mary walks up and engages him in conversation. I stop. What am I doing? What would I even have said? Luckily, I don't have time to stand around being awkward because a man who can only be Damien sweeps me an elegant bow.

"Ah, the newest arrival to our neighborhood," he declares in stately, measured tones. "Please, allow me to introduce myself: Damien Bloodmarch, at your service."

"Jack Morrison," I tell him, doing my best to return the bow. "It's a pleasure."

"The pleasure is all mine," he returns. "Ah - I hope you'll forgive my impertinent question, but the delectable dish you brought. Is it..."

"Meat-free," I assure him.

His face lights up. "I'm so glad to hear it! If you would perhaps care to join me at the small table, I shall sample your culinary offerings before they cool and we can continue our introductions."

"It would be an honor," I tell him with another bow.

I go over to the table, a glass-topped wrought iron affair big enough for two people, where someone I have to assume is Damien brought a crystal carafe of lemonade and a pair of goblets. He joins me with a paper bowl of ravioli and marinara, and pours the lemonade. It's very good. We chat for a bit about his unique lifestyle choice, and then he excuses himself to deal with something his son - Lucien, the kid I had a staredown with in the hallway - has done. While I'm watching them, someone sits at the table where Damien was, making me jump.

It's Robert.

He looks...miserable. Still hung over and well on his way to being drunk again, a glass of whiskey in his hand, but he's clean and so are his clothes. I try to tell myself my heart is racing from the surprise, but I'm a liar and I know it.

"Hey," he says noncommittally.

I swallow my bite of cheese. "Hey." What do I say? "You okay?"

That gets me the borderline hostile look again. "...yeah."

Somehow, I doubt that. "I was about to get myself something to drink because Damien's lemonade is really good but I don't want to drink it all. Want me to grab you something?"

Robert stares at me for a long moment. Then he looks down at his whiskey and drains the glass. "...fine."

I get two plastic cups of Coke with ice, and also put a few ravioli on a plate with a spoonful of sauce. Robert gives me a suspicious look as I put the plate and one of the cups down in front of him, but he picks up one of the fried pasta pockets and nibbles it.

"It's good," he says reluctantly. "Thanks for...breakfast yesterday."

"You're always welcome to come over for breakfast," I say quietly. "Or..." I fish out the folded post-it note with my number scribbled on it and pass it over. "If you're not up for facing the world, text me and I'll come cook for you."

Robert looks at the paper for a long minute before tucking it away. Awkward silence descends. I nibble my cheese; Robert eats the fried ravioli. We both sip our Cokes.

"I talked to Brian," I say to fill the silence. "We're going to arrange a camping trip, do some fishing. Cook on a campfire. It's been a few years since I last went camping."

"I haven't gone camping in years," Robert says quietly. "Not since the last time."

Well, that's mildly concerning. "What happened the last time?"

Robert spins me a hard-boiled, over-the-top story about carrying his buddy for two days with a broken ankle, but he does it completely deadpan, serious as a heart attack. When he reaches the end and looks at me over the rim of his cup for a reaction, I grin and arch an eyebrow at him.

"Just kidding," he says in something close to a warm tone. Then he tells me what _really_ happened.

"Was that revenge for me pulling your leg in the bar?" I ask lightly.

He gives me a tiny smirk. "Nah. I'm just an asshole like that. Good to see you can take a joke, though."

"I'm honestly impressed you managed to say all that with a straight face," I tease him, and he looks faintly pleased.

Amanda and Daisy come barreling up, using a paper plate as a steering wheel. They're playing Long Haul Paranormal Ice Road Ghost Truckers, and it looks like Amanda has taken it on herself to teach the younger girl how playing pretend works. As they're eating gummy worms, Amanda turns to Robert.

"I'm Amanda," she says briskly, holding her hand out. "Jack's my dad. Yes really, no not genetically, yes legally, no not adopted."

"Robert," he says, chuckling. "You must get that a lot." He shakes her hand.

"Since I was in first grade," she admits cheerfully. "So. You gonna come over for breakfast so I can practice making biscuits?"

He looks a bit taken aback. "I..."

"I want to be sure I can have them come out edible before I go off to college," she continues. "And that means practice, practice, practice. So. Yes or no?"

"I...yes," he says uncertainly.

"Great!"

Joseph's twins pop up from seemingly nowhere. "Come play with us," they chorus in creepy unison. "Come play with us _forever_."

Amanda throws me a panicky look while Daisy retreats quietly. Thankfully, Joseph hurries up.

"Guys, enough with the creepy twin shtick," he chides them. “We’ve _talked_ about this.” They run off giggling. "Sorry about that. I'm about to put the burgers on the grill."

He's wearing the same robin's egg blue sweater over his shoulders as he was when I met him, something that seems odd considering the warmth of the day and the grill. What's more odd, though, is that Robert _had_ been moderately relaxed, but now he's gone back to looking like he's just waiting for an excuse to stab someone, and he's glaring holes into Joseph's back as he walks over to the grill.

"Robert?" I ask quietly.

He looks down at his cup, puts it down, and picks up his empty glass. "I need a drink," he growls, and leaves the table to stalk over to the bar.

I abandon the table as well and head over to where Mat and Hugo are having a heated discussion about art and Craig looks lost. Amanda is across the yard, making flower crowns with Daisy and a girl I’m guessing is Mat’s daughter, something that’s confirmed when she runs up and puts hers on his head. He rolls with it, delighted, and she jokes that it makes him slightly less uncool before running off again. The conversation shifts to Cool Dads and Authoritarian Dads and Craig sticks up for my Mr. Mom-ness. I realize, when I get thirsty, that I left my Coke on Damien’s table and head back over there, but he’s perched on one of the matching wrought-iron chairs and he’s moved both cups to the side.

Which one was mine? Which one was Robert’s?

If I drink from Robert’s, isn’t that what they call an indirect kiss?

Blindly, I take a cup and drink from it. Schrödinger’s Indirect Kiss.

I’m so doomed.

“Please, sit,” Damien urges me. “Let us resume our lovely chat from earlier.”

Right, That. I sit. “Sorry Robert and I hogged your table,” I say, but Damien waves the issue away.

“Think nothing of it, my friend.” He smiles at me. “To be truthful, I was glad my humble furniture could facilitate a conversation between you. I know Robert can be quite…prickly…when it comes to meeting new people, and it warms my heart to see him take such a shine to you.”

“Well, we met…Thursday night.” Great. I’m blushing. “And we…uh…had lunch together yesterday.”

Damien looks intrigued. “Really? Which establishment did you frequent together?”

Now I’m blushing harder. “We…had sandwiches. At my house. And watched a movie.”

He’s giving me the impressed surprise look. What the hell did I get myself into?

Before I can figure out what to say, Craig comes up and hands me a paper plate with a cheeseburger on it.

“Just the way you used to eat ‘em,” he says proudly.

“Thanks, bro,” I say, but then I notice Robert standing several feet behind him, a plate in each hand and what I assume is a cheeseburger on each plate. He’s scowling, and when he sees me looking, he looks away.

Craig looks behind him. “Oh, crap bro, I’m sorry.” He hastily looks back at me as Robert looks in our direction. “I totally forgot you developed that…uh…ketchup aversion in college.”

He snatches the plate back from me and hurries off. Damien and I exchange a slightly-puzzled look, but then Robert walks up and drops one of the plates in front of me.

“Here,” he says shortly, not looking at me.

“Thanks,” I tell him quietly, and he walks off.

Damien looks like he’s just seen a unicorn.

“I would be _delighted_ to make your acquaintance further,” he says as I take a bite of my burger. “I beg you, allow me to host you for a spot of afternoon tea sometime.”

“I would like that,” I say as soon as I’ve swallowed.

Joseph comes up while I’m eating and hands Damien a plate with a burger on it.

“Ah, my thanks,” he says, accepting the plate. “Even with patties made of vegetable protein, your grilling skills are impeccable.”

“It wasn’t my first time behind the grill,” Joseph says with a wink in my direction. “Say, Jack, you should add us all on Dadbook.”

“What’s Dadbook?” I ask warily.

Dadbook, it turns out, is a Facebook knockoff specifically for neighborhood dads. The rest of the evening goes smoothly, with everyone trading stories and watching the kids play. Amanda breaks up a fight between Carmensita and the twins, and I field a few babysitting offers for her. Around sunset, everyone packs up and heads out to their respective homes.

Amanda has plans to go out with friends, which amazes me because how does she still have the energy to do anything at this hour? I remind her to be home before midnight and be careful, to call if she needs anything, and wave as she goes off into the night.

Around midnight, I text Amanda to see if she’s on her way home, but she doesn’t respond. A few minutes later, I text her again. Half an hour later, I’m getting worried. I text her a third time, begging her to let me know she’s okay. Almost an hour later, Amanda finally comes home. She tries to play it cool, but that falls apart when I hug her tightly.

“Dad?”

“Why didn’t you answer my texts?” I half-demand.

She squirms uncomfortably. “I…guess I didn’t see those.”

“Fareeha…”

That makes her freeze. Her birth name reminds us both of her mother.

“You came home an hour and a half after your curfew and you didn’t respond to any of my texts. I kept thinking something had happened, that I was going to get a call from the cops. I was scared.”

She hugs me back. “Oh, Dad…I didn’t mean to…”

I let go and sit on the couch, head in my hands, feeling very tired. “Please don’t do that again,” I say quietly.

Amanda hugs me. “I’m sorry. I won’t do that again. I’m…gonna go to bed now.”

Once she’s in her room, I lock the door and go to my room. My room shouldn’t feel any emptier than usual, because Ana and I never shared a bed, but somehow it does and I wonder if Robert’s sleeping, or if he’s spent the evening at Jim and Kim’s and assured someone else he didn’t kiss and tell if he wanted to come inside.

Does it bother me, the possibility that Robert’s having casual sex? That I could have…

No. It wouldn’t have been right. He took a shine to me, in Damien’s words, and judging by the reactions of my new neighbors that’s a more rare and precious thing.

I fall asleep remembering Robert sprawled in his bed. Maybe in the morning I’ll see if his door is unlocked and make him breakfast.


	3. First date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robert needs distraction. Jack has no idea what he's getting himself into, but he's a lovestruck sap.

When my alarm finally goes off at five, I sigh and get out of bed, giving up on the idea of possibly convincing my brain to let me get a few shreds of peaceful sleep. Knowing Amanda came home safe didn’t do anything to ward off nightmares and memories, and I feel like I didn’t get more than a handful of minutes of uninterrupted sleep at a time. I put the coffee on, extra strong, and take a hot shower. Hopefully I can catch Craig for his run. Maybe.

Dressed in an old t-shirt and some sweats, I pour myself a mug of coffee and add milk until I can take more than hesitant sips. As I’m drinking, I get a text from Craig saying he didn’t want to knock and wake me up, but if I’m already up he’s ready to start his jog. I let him know I’ll be right out and scrawl a note for Amanda on the whiteboard in the event that she wakes up.

It’s a cool morning. Craig and I jog around the cul-de-sac and out to the park, circle that and come back. He looks invigorated, but I’m ready to take another shower and see if I can nap.

“Good run, bro,” he tells me, clapping me on the back. “Way to go, keeping up! You should join me again. We’ll get you into shape in no time.”

“Thanks,” I pant. “Yeah. Good. Let’s.”

“Remember to hydrate, bro. And if you’re still up for helping with breakfast, come by in an hour.”

I give him a thumbs up and he jogs off. The first thing I do when I get inside is down a glass of cold water, and then I take a quick shower and put on jeans and a different t-shirt. Still no sign of life from Amanda’s room. I erase the whiteboard and scrawl a new note, then I slip back out and over to Robert’s. The door is open, which makes me wary, particularly with the state of disarray his house is in. Carefully, I make my way to his bedroom and peek around the doorframe. The bed, thankfully, is occupied only by one body and that body is Robert. I leave him water and painkillers, pick up the half-empty bottle of whiskey and cap it before it gets knocked over, and retreat to the kitchen. While his coffee is brewing, I check his fridge to see what I’ll need to bring over and discover that he must have done some shopping because there’s eggs, bacon, butter, cheese, milk, and a can of ready-made biscuits. The leftover biscuits are gone. The freezer has frozen pancakes, cheap sausage, and a bag of Reese’s cups. There’s still flour in the cabinet, though, so I get to work making _real_ biscuits while the bacon sizzles in the frying pan.

As I’m putting the biscuits in the oven and the bacon onto paper towels to drain, Robert shuffles out of his room and heads for the coffee maker. He glares at me, then turns away to pour his coffee. “Make the eggs over easy,” he growls before sitting slowly at the table.

“You got it,” I tell him, cracking eggs into the bacon grease.

“Why are you here?”

It’s a demand, but not really an angry one.

“I’ll be doing breakfast at Craig’s this morning. I didn’t want you to think I’d forgotten about you if you came over and I wasn’t there.”

Robert grunts, but doesn’t say anything else. When breakfast is done, I plate it and set it in front of him. He picks up the fork, looks at me, and puts the fork back down.

“You look like I feel. What happened?”

I sit down and sigh. “Amanda went out last night and came home an hour and a half past her curfew. She ignored my texts. I know she’s safe, but that didn’t stop me from having nightmares.”

Robert reaches out and takes my hand. I squeeze his gently, and he squeezes back.

“That sucks. I drink on nights like that, but that doesn’t help you any. I guess that’s why you’re up at the ass-crack of dawn?”

“I’m always up this early,” I tell him. “I’m going to start jogging with Craig, I think. Give me something to do with my mornings when Amanda goes to college. Uh…sorry if you didn’t want me over here,” I add as it occurs to me that I did just kind of enter his house uninvited.

He takes his hand back and snorts in amusement. “If I didn’t want you over here, I would have locked the door.”

We both freeze as it sinks in that he just said by omission that he _did_ want me here.

“You know what I mean,” he growls. “If I don’t give a shit, the door will be unlocked.”

“R-right. Of course.” I check my watch to try to hide that I’m probably blushing. “I should…go see if Amanda’s up and head over to Craig’s.”

“Yeah.”

Awkwardly, I leave Robert to his breakfast.

Amanda enters the kitchen as I’m wiping the whiteboard off again.

“Hey…” she starts hesitantly. “I thought about what you said last night. I should have texted you. I was having fun, and I didn’t want to stop, so I ignored them. But if anything had happened…” She looks down at her feet. “I’m really sorry, Pops. I won’t do it again.”

“I’m sorry for freaking out on you,” I say, pulling her into a hug. “You’re an adult. I trust you to make good choices. I shouldn’t have gotten so worked up.”

“Dad, no. I was making a bad choice. You were right to call me on that.” She hugs me back.

“I forgive you, Manda Panda.”

She giggles. “If I’m an adult, how come you still call me that?”

“Because I’m also your father,” I answer cheerfully, “and it is the right of every parent to embarrass their child no matter how old they are. Now,” I say as I release her, “I’m going over to Craig’s to make breakfast for him and his girls. You coming with?”

Amanda grins at me. “You know it.”

 

* * *

 

Breakfast with Craig is hectic and noisy, but from the look on his face, still less so than usual. Briar and Hazel are thrilled to have a full country breakfast, and offer to help clean up if I promise to come back next Sunday and do this again. Amanda and I promise before heading back home. She sits down to work on an overdue paper for Hugo’s class, and I brace myself and create a profile on Dadbook. There’s a selection of getting-to-know-you questions, and I guess I should fill them out, but some of them are…dumb.

On a Friday night, I am most likely to:

…sink into blissful oblivion and sleep.

If I could take one thing with me onto a desert island, what would it be?

…uh, a _boat_ , obviously.

What are my turn-ons?? Whoah there, getting kind of personal, Dadbook!

Robert’s stubble leaps to mind, making me blush. I’m _not_ going to admit to that. I type in ‘street smarts’.

What did I want to be when I grew up?

Like I had the time or energy to think about that? I was more focused on raising my baby sister. I put down ‘a good father’.

What’s my favorite movie genre?

Why, is someone going to ask me out? What if I don’t want anyone to ask me out? Sarcastically, I type ‘old comedies that haven’t aged well’.

_What’s my ideal date??_ Is this a support network, or a dating site??

The fact that I’ve never dated nor _wanted_ to date just makes this more irritating. _Arson,_ I type angrily.

What do I never leave home without?

Considering I left my home twice this morning with nothing but the clothes on my back, I pull up a _Buffy, the Vampire Slayer_ quote: “My keen fashion sense.”

I spend a lot of time thinking about?

I suppose this one’s not so bad. I answer ‘how proud I am of my daughter’.

Profile complete, I wait while the system checks my address and then, unsurprisingly, all seven of my neighbors pop up as suggested contacts. I accept them all and go browsing through their profiles. Some of their answers make me laugh. Some of them make my eyebrows go up, like Hugo’s. Miniatures and muscles? There’s some hidden depths there, for sure. Joseph’s sounds like he’s trying to sound as noble and upstanding as possible. I save Robert’s for last, sure he won’t have answered honestly, and I’m not disappointed. I dash off a few notes to some of them – asking Hugo when trivia night is, telling Damien I’d love to have tea sometime, reminding Brian that we should arrange a camping trip – and a couple of messages come in while I’m doing that. Craig thanking me for doing the breakfast thing and asking if I’d be interested in hanging without the kids sometime. Mat welcoming me to the platform and expressing how much he’s looking forward to seeing what I can do at trivia night. Joseph praising my cookies and asking if I’d be willing and able on such short notice to join him for baking brownies for the church bake sale this afternoon.

_What time does it start?_ I message back.

_Three, although I try to be there for two to make sure everything’s set up._

Grinning, I crack my knuckles. _Save me half a table, I’ll bring cookies, brownies, and my caramel-apple crumb cake_.

There’s a delay before Joseph’s message comes in. _Thank you, I will_.

Time to use my powers for evil. I head into the kitchen.

Three hours and a roast beef sandwich later, Amanda’s celebrating her completed paper by going out for ice cream with The Emmas and I’m sliding cookies two at a time into sandwich baggies when an unknown number messages me.

WYD?

I’m about to fuck with the random person when I remember I gave Robert my number.

PACKING FRESH-BAKED COOKIES FOR A BAKE SALE.

The phone gets set on the counter while I keep packing.

HOW MUCH?

I can’t resist.

FOUR DOZEN. PLUS BROWNIES AND APPLE CRUMB CAKE.

The last tray is being packed when the reply comes in.

JOSEPH ALREADY PUTTING YOU TO WORK?

I’m laughing as I type.

IT’S NOT WORK. IT’S ART.

The last of the cookies are piled into the shopping bag next to the bag of brownies and the one of apple cake. I grab my keys, wallet, phone, and the bags and head out to my car.

Robert’s leaning against it, smirking.

My heart jumps into my throat and I do my best to not give him a goofy grin. “Hey,” I say as I get closer.

“Hey.” He holds up a five-dollar bill. “Three cookies, a brownie, and a piece of cake.”

I duck my head to hide my blush. “Sure, let me just…unlock the car…”

I set the bags on the driver’s seat and fish out three baggies of cookies and one each of brownie and cake, and hand them over. Robert hands me the money, which I drop in the cookie bag.

“Thanks,” he says, stepping away from the car. “Tell Joseph I said hi.”

“Uh…sure, and you’re welcome. Or maybe I should be thanking you for your patronage?”

He snorts in amusement and walks away. It takes me a minute to shake myself off of just watching him go and move the baked goods to the passenger’s seat before climbing in. As I’m backing out of my driveway, I watch him disappear into his house. Moments later, Joseph comes out of his own house and waves for me to stop. I put the car into park and roll down the window.

“Mind if I ride with you?” he asks, giving me a sheepish grin and hefting a bag of his own. “Mary took the minivan and the kids to get them settled, and this way, she won’t have to come back for me.”

“I don’t mind at all,” I tell him. “Just put the bags in the back.”

“Hey,” he says as he moves the bags, “why is there a five in with the cookies?”

Keep it together, Jack. Don’t blush. “Oh, uh…Robert bought some. He said to tell you he says hi.”

The look on Joseph’s face is priceless. It’s like he’s not sure what he’s feeling so he’s trying all the emotions out at once and none of them fit. Without another word he sits in the passenger’s seat, buckles in, and nods for me to drive.

 

* * *

 

I forgot to leave a note for Amanda, so I text her as soon as we’re set up and let her know where I am and why. She texts me back and tells me to save her a brownie. I hide one in the empty bags. The church bake sale gets underway pretty quickly, and I’m a new face, so there’s a lot of people buying my baked goods for the novelty factor. I see a few of the neighbors. Brian goes for the brownies, while Mat tries the caramel apple crumb cake. In what feels like no time at all, I’ve sold out and Mary’s coming around with a cash box to collect our earnings. Joseph still has some brownies left, and he gets into a rather uncomfortable conversation with Mary about using boxed mix. She tries to drag me into it, insulting the congregation, but I tell them both I’m only involved for the opportunity to cook. Joseph thanks me for my contribution, I collect my “empty” bags, and then I’m on my way home.

Amanda squeals over her brownie and thinks it’s cute that Robert bought cookies from me. I try not to think of the saying that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. She gets started on homework, I get started on dinner, and the evening passes in domestic serenity. Just as I’m about to tell her to pack it in and go to bed because she has school in the morning, I get a text from Robert.

YOU UP?

YEAH, I type back.

WYD?

“Who’s that, Dad?” Amanda asks.

“Robert,” I answer her. JUST CHILLIN, I answer him.

CHILL AT J&K WITH ME

Amanda’s reading over my shoulder. “Do it, Pops,” she says. “Go, have the social life I can’t.”

“Ugh, fine,” I huff with insincere irritation, and we both laugh. I text Robert back. OK. OMW. “I’m trusting you to go to bed,” I tell Amanda. “Remember, good grades for good colleges.”

She kisses me on the cheek. “I remember, Dad. I’m going. You go, too.”

“I’m going. Sleep well. Love you, Manda Panda.”

“Love you too, Dad.”

I stand for a good-night hug, then collect keys and wallet and head out to Jim and Kim’s. It’s a beautiful night, though, so I decide to just walk. Robert’s in a booth, and I can’t help but smile as I approach.

“Hey. How’s it going?”

He looks up at me. “Hey, buddy.”

And then Mary’s next to me. “Ahoy there, skipper.”

“I brought Mary along,” Robert says in a sort of unapologetic declaration that still comes off as an apology. “I needed a drinking buddy.”

There’s something going on that I’m missing, but I nod like this makes perfect sense. I’m not exactly thrilled with the idea of having an unhappily-married woman making passes at me, but I’m more of a designated driver than a drinking buddy.

As if she could hear my thoughts, she rolls her eyes. “Don’t look so scared, kiddo. We’re just having a drink.”

Robert nods slightly. “Yeah. Speaking of which, I think it’s time for the first round. Coke for you, Jack?”

“Oh. Yes, please.” Cautiously, I sit down across from Robert while Mary goes to the bar and comes back with wine, whiskey, and my Coke.

“You sure you don’t want anything in that Coke?” Mary asks as she sets the drinks down. It’s obvious from her tone that she’s judging me.

Robert takes his whiskey. “Leave it alone, Mary.”

She gives him a funny look before shrugging and sliding into the booth next to him. “Here’s to bad decisions and relaxed moral values,” she says. She and Robert both look like they’re the butt of a joke Mary just told. I say nothing and sip my Coke.

What have I gotten myself into?

When our drinks are gone, Robert grabs his jacket. First round or not, he looks like he’s got a few shots in him already.

“Let’s get marching,” he says tersely.

“What?” I wasn’t expecting that.

“The night’s still young,” he says as Mary slides out of the booth. “Come on, we’re bar hopping.”

“Oh.” I really don’t understand anything that’s going on. “…alright.”

We leave the bar and walk down the street to another one, an Irish pub.

“Next round,” Robert declares, leading us to the bar.

Moments later, we’re in a garish green booth sipping our drinks again, with Mary on Robert’s side, watching me with a disapproving look.

“Jack,” she says in a poisoned purr, “get the next round, won’t you?”

I order more wine and whiskey and bring the drinks back. Mary says something I can’t hear, and Robert laughs uproariously. I take my seat and slide the glasses over while Mary tells a story about pot brownies at the last bake sale. Robert seems to find it funny, but it’s the whiskey that makes it seem so amusing. At the conclusion of the story, Mary pins me with a piercing look.

“Do you smoke weed?” Before I can do more than open my mouth, she says, “I have two big fat blunts in my purse right now. Wanna blaze?”

Robert’s Dadbook profile answers suddenly leap to mind, and I grin. “You with the feds?” I demand in an overdone way. “This is entrapment. I worked hard for what I have, and no two-bit corner boy is gonna drop the dime on me. So you take what you’re pushing somewhere else, and I’ll keep running my business the way I want it run.”

Mary blinks. “What?”

“Remember,” I tell her sternly. “You come at the king, you best not miss.”

“Jesus, kid, dial it back,” she says as Robert giggles helplessly. “I’m just kidding around, cowboy.”

“Lay off him,” Robert gasps between giggles. “He’s alright.”

“Fine, fine,” she sighs.

We sit around, cracking jokes and sipping our drinks. Slowly, Mary and I warm up to each other, although in her case it may be the alcohol and in mine, it’s basking in Robert being relaxed and happy.

After a bit, I look at her and say, “Isn’t the next round on you?”

“You trying to ditch me, pal?” she asks pointedly.

Robert frowns. “Mary, slow down.”

“No, no, it’s fine. You want me to scram, I’ll scram. Jack wants alone time with his new best buddy. Read you loud and clear. The wingman breaks formation to pursue their prey. Now if you fellas will excuse me,” she says, sliding out of the booth, “Mary needs to sink her teeth into a helpless boy.”

I am baffled by this reaction, but Robert just grins.

“Go with god,” he says, and off she goes to sidle up to a younger-looking guy at the bar. “She grows on you,” Robert says, as if that explains everything.

I have no idea what’s going on. “I feel like she…kinda delights in making men suffer,” I say hesitantly.

Robert shrugs. “Well, she does.”

“What about…” I hesitate. “…her and Joseph?”

Instantly, Robert’s tense again. “What about ‘em?”

Okay, how can I phrase this diplomatically. “She doesn’t…act the way I would have expected her to. As a married woman.”

Thankfully, Robert relaxes. “Oh, that’s just a thing she does. She’s harmless.”

“Tell that to the poor thing she’s hanging off of,” I joke. “Guy looks like he’s seen war.”

Robert lets out a bark of laughter. “Good to see you’re not one of those straight-laced types.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I got pretty wild back in my day.” Especially running around with Keg-Stand Craig.

“Still got a little wild in you?” Robert asks me slyly.

Too much, considering how my heart just leaped. “You know it,” I tell him.

He grins and orders a couple more shots and a Coke. Oh god, what is he planning? I don’t say anything, and as we sit sipping, the silence gets more comfortable.

“You know,” Robert says suddenly, “too many people think that they have to fill the dead air with noise. Personally I think they’re afraid of the silence. Or they’re afraid of what the other person is gonna think of the silence. If you want some unsolicited advice, just learn to be comfortable with silence. Nothing wrong with two people sitting in silence and drinking.”

I don’t say anything, but I do smile and toast Robert with my glass. After a surprised moment, he smiles and toasts me back. It’s a very nice smile, one that warms me from the inside out.

Fuck, I think I’m in love.

“So,” Robert says into the comfortable silence, “you ever kill a man?”

I almost choke on my drink. “Excuse me?”

“You know, watch the life drain from someone’s eyes. It’s not just their life, you know,” he continues solemnly. “It’s their hopes and dreams draining away. Every memory and experience they’ve ever had…gone.”

He’s fucking with me. I grin.

“Nah, left that to the wife.”

Robert bursts into laughter. “You got me,” he wheezes before downing another shot. “I was just messing with you, but you got me.”

I grin. “Oh, I was serious. My wife was a sniper.”

That gets him laughing again. “To your wife,” he chuckles, toasting with the last shot. “They never knew what hit them.”

It’s my turn to chuckle at that. We touch our glasses together and down the contents. Robert gets out of the booth, shrugging his jacket on and I want to press myself against it, smell the leather and whatever other scents cling to it.

“Let’s roll,” he announced in a too-loud voice before apologizing. “Inside voices,” he chides himself. “Let’s roll,” he repeats in something less of a declaration and more of a warm invitation.

We leave the bar.

“Where to?” I ask, gauging Robert’s level of inebriation. He’s a bit wobbly, but not too bad.

“You’ll see.” He grins at me, something between shy and predatory anticipation.

Robert leads me to a run-down strip mall that’s basically abandoned this late at night, and tells me to wait before vanishing into the liquor store. A few minutes later he comes out with a wine bottle in a brown paper bag.

“I didn’t think you’d want one of your own,” he says as he opens it. “But if I was wrong, you’re welcome to share.”

Thankfully, the darkness hides my blush. “What is it?”

“White Zinfandel.” He takes a drink from the bottle. “It is delicious, fruity, and refreshing. Don’t judge me.”

“I’m not judging. I’m just glad to see you enjoying something.”

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I realize it’s true. Robert genuinely looks like he’s enjoying himself, and I’m smiling at him like a sap. Get it together, Jack.

Robert looks away, then sits on the curb and takes another drink. I sit next to him, just enjoying the comfortable silence.

His jacket smells like cloves and smoke.

I’m definitely in love.

“Let’s throw rocks at shit,” Robert says lazily.

He picks up a large pebble or piece of broken concrete and hurls it at a stop sign. The ding echoes throughout the empty parking lot.

“That felt good,” he says, still sounding relaxed and content. He picks up another one and passes it to me. “Now you try. With _feeling_.”

I’m back to only being able to think of sexually suggestive phrases involving the word _banging_. Time to make something up. I take deep breath.

“I have unresolved resentment toward my father and I’m gonna express it through property damage!”

I hurl the rock. It sails right over the top and strikes the window of a parked car. Neither of has to say anything; with the instinct all young troublemakers possess, we leap up and dart into the nearest alley. We don’t stop until we’re far enough away to claim we were never there and then Robert leans against the side of a building, laughing as he pants. I start laughing, too, and we just stand there giggling as we catch our breath.

“Maybe we strike throwing rocks from the to-do list,” he chuckles.

“Agreed.”

There’s a gurgling growl. I’m not sure whose stomach it came from, but if it was Robert’s, mine thinks that his has the right idea because despite the fact that I _had_ dinner…I’m hungry.

“Let’s get pizza,” Robert announces.

“I can’t argue with that. Where’s good around here? Actually,” I say, practically interrupting myself, “I don’t even care if it’s good, as long as it’s hot and in my mouth.”

Robert laughs and looks away. “I know just the place.”

He leads me through a maze of alleys and side-streets until we reach a tiny, hole-in-the-wall place called Pete’s Piece a’ Pizza.

“Ta-da!”

“Nice alliteration,” I murmur. “Mmm, and it smells great.”

Not only does it smell great, but the employees are pulling fresh pies out of stone ovens.

“They do a lot of business with the late-night drunk crowd,” Robert tells me. “You cool with pineapple on your pizza? They do a killer Hawaiian.”

It’s not a favorite of mine, but I’m starving and in love.

“I trust your judgment, Robert.”

He looks surprised. “I…thank you, Jack. Good Hawaiian pizza is one of the few things in life that I genuinely and thoroughly enjoy. The juiciness of the pineapple paired with the tanginess of the sauce is a flavor combination that I think everyone should experience at least once instead of dismissing it out of hand without giving it a shot.”

Oh my god, he’s so passionate about this. I want to find everything else he genuinely and thoroughly enjoys and listen to him talk about them. Forever.

“Two slices of Hawaiian,” Robert’s telling the cashier at the counter.

It’s a couple of minutes while our slices heat, and then the cashier hands them over on paper plates that do nothing to hold back the grease from the crust. Robert hands one to me, and we wander through the alleyways eating.

It’s absolutely delicious.

“I have seen the light,” I declare as I wad up my empty plate and toss it in a garbage can.

Robert looks…pleasantly surprised. “I’m glad.”

“Thank you for that. I feel much better now.”

He tosses his own plate and washes his slice down with wine. “You and me both.”

There’s someone talking somewhere nearby; we both look around for the source and see a slightly-ajar door. Then the talking stops and music swells. Robert looks at me excitedly.

“Got any more of that wild in ya?”

Any tiredness I might have been feeling evaporates. “You betcha!”

“Good on ya!” He gestures me towards the door and slips carefully through.

It’s dark inside, and I reach out to try to keep physical contact with Robert. He takes my hand, my heart leaps into my throat, and we creep forward towards some flickering light. Then we get into an open area and there’s a movie screen behind us.

We just snuck into a movie. I’m not telling Amanda about this.

The theater’s almost completely empty except for a few teenagers in the front row. They haven’t noticed us yet, and we crouch down to keep it that way. Robert tugs my hand and leads me all the way to the back row, where we settle into the center seats. It’s…some kind of romantic comedy, I think. Frantic guy trying to get through New York to find the woman he’s finally realized he’s in love with.

Robert still hasn’t let go of my hand. He’s got mine in his left hand, and the bottle of wine in his right. If I say anything, he’ll probably let go, but the longer we hold hands the more awkward it’s going to be when something draws his attention to it.

Suddenly, Robert shouts “KISS ALREADY!” and I about jump out of my skin.

“There’s nobody to kiss yet,” I point out, trying very hard to not think about kissing Robert. Fuck. “You…want him to kiss the taxi driver?”

Robert starts, and I realize he’s attained a deeper level of inebriation. “…hell yeah,” he mutters, like that was his intent all along.

The kids down in front turn to stare at us. One kneels in his seat.

“Hey man, keep it down!”

That’s...Hugo’s kid, Ernest. Why is he in a romantic comedy? On a school night?

“Does your dad know you’re here?” I call back to him.

Embarrassed, he turns back around and slides deeper into his seat.

The frantic man makes his way out to a tiny island, finds the woman, there’s some dialogue that I assume makes sense if you watched from the beginning, and they kiss.

“Finally,” Robert mutters. He takes a long pull of wine, finishing the bottle, and lets go of my hand to stuff it into the seat next to him. Then he smirks. “Boooo! Love is dead!”

Ernest pops back up. “Shut up! It’s beautiful!”

Huh. Kid’s got hidden depths.

The credits start to roll and I stand up, but Robert grabs my hand again and immediately pulls me back down.

“Hundreds of people worked very hard to make this film happen, and you’re going to sit here and appreciate them,” he declares loudly that it must have been meant for Ernest and his friends, too. “Look at that. Elizabeth Shelton. She worked really hard. I bet she did lots of good…uh…wardrobe design. Thank you Elizabeth Shelton for this beautiful film-going experience.”

Oh my god, he’s adorable. Robert Small is a precious, sweet cinnamon roll under all that anger and anti-social lashing out. I’d like to say I somehow knew it and that’s why I fell in love with him, but no. This is a glorious surprise and I will protect this man to my dying breath.

“And…Peter Anders,” he says, picking a new name out of the ones scrolling past. “Catering. Fed a bunch of people so that they could have the energy to do their jobs. What a guy.”

We let the credits roll while Robert thanks random members of the crew and I fight my urge to lift the armrest and hug him like there’s no tomorrow. Once it’s over and he’s made sure no animals were harmed in the making of this film, he stands up and we leave the movie theater.

Out in the alley again, however, Ernest’s friends are waiting for us. Blocking our exit.

“Hey, assholes!” one of them shouts before throwing a rock at us.

It’s not a very big rock, and it barely hits my knee, but it’s enough to make me exclaim in startled pain.

“My knee! What the hell?”

“What do you guys want?” Robert demands.

One of the kids tosses another rock from hand to hand. “You ruined my theater-going experience,” he sneers. “Now you have to pay.”

“We ruined it for you?” Robert crosses his arms and curls his lip. “That movie was pretty crappy in the first place.”

Whoah. Where did the cute, squishy drunk Robert go?

Ernest yells, “Hey! You take that back! That was a beautiful love story with really genuine acting!”

“You call _that_ good acting?” Robert sounds furious. “What classicist, mainstream slop have you been served your entire life?”

“What?” Ernest sounds like he genuinely didn’t understand those words.

“Have you ever even seen any Michael Powell? A Matter of Life and Death? 1946? Easily the toughest five minutes of love you’ll ever witness.”

Ernest looks like he regrets picking this fight. “Listen, man-”

“No, _you_ listen!” Robert’s having none of this shit. “That popcorn-ass drivel the mass media is shoving down your throat will only make you dumber and sadder. You of all people should strive for a higher standard in the art you consume. Your name is _Ernest Hemingway_ , for chrissakes.”

“Oh no, now you’ve done it!” shouts the kid with the rock.

Ernest rushes Robert, screaming like a banshee.

I dive between Ernest and Robert, no thought, just sheer parental protective instincts. Ernest lunges forward and kicks me in the knee as hard as he can, making me yell in real pain. Robert gets between me and Ernest, looking absolutely furious.

“Alright buddy,” he snarls. “Talk like a punk, get hit like a punk.” He takes a boxer’s stance. “Queensbury rules. Three-minute rounds with one-minute rests in between. No low blows, fish hooks, J-grabs, or high blows.”

Ernest looks uncertain. “What?”

“And don’t even _think_ about pulling an illegal turnstile. That’s an automatic deduction of three points.”

“I…”

Robert doesn’t give him time to finish. “You’ll have to designate a second if you’re unable to fulfill your role as main duelist. Your friend with the rock looks like he has enough youthful vivacity to handle it.”

The kid with the rock drops the rock. “Hey man, I don’t want to get dragged into this. That movie sucked.”

“It’s too late,” Robert informs him crisply. “You two are blood bound. If he dies, you die.”

I try to remind myself that Robert is still significantly drunk and bullshitting. But god damn he’s a good actor.

“Sorry. I don’t make the rules. Talk to Queensbury,” Robert says.

Ernest edges away. “We’re just…gonna go…”

The whole cluster of them back away and dart out of the alley.

Robert shouts after them, “The Queensbury association will hear about this! And consume better content!” Once they’re out of earshot, he turns to me.

“Nicely done, bullshitting them like that,” I say warmly.

He relaxes. “Thanks. I would never actually hit a child. That would be despicable. You throw the rules at ‘em, though, they always bolt. Nobody wants a Queensbury-sanctioned throwdown. But full disclosure, I made half of that up.”

“I know.” I grin at him, wanting so badly to just step over and kiss him because he looks startled and pleased again, and I can’t be sure but I think he may be flushing a little.

“You don’t even have to know the rules,” he says, and yeah, he’s flustered. “You just…make ‘em up.”

Oh no, he’s sweet and squishy again. And I’m grinning like a loon.

“C’mon, let’s get outta here,” Robert says, and I nod agreement.

He leads us back through side-streets and alleys and back to our own neighborhood. I want to take his hand again, but I’m afraid of what will happen if he doesn’t want that.

“I’m so sorry,” he says as we approach the cul-de-sac, breaking our comfortable silence. “I get really into the art of filmmaking when I drink.”

“It’s fine,” I assure him. “I think it’s cool how much you like movies. If you wanted to watch where you can yell and not get yelled at, I’d be glad to have you over for movie night sometime.”

Robert grins at me. “Buddy, I got so much to show you. You ever see any Sam Fuller?”

“I haven’t.”

“Fuller is cash.”

I’m…not sure what that means. “Thanks for defending my honor,” I say instead.

He looks flattered and pleased. “It’s a little strange when you say it that way, but sure. Why not.”

Robert throws an arm around my shoulder, I wrap mine around his waist, and we belt out tunes all the way back. Finally, we get to his doorstep.

“I wasn’t expecting tonight to go this way,” I tell him, “but I’m glad it did.”

“I liked it,” he says simply, still grinning. Then it gentles into the smile that turns me to molten chocolate. “Let’s hang again soon, yeah?”

“Anytime, buddy. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, whatever. You know where I live.”

Robert claps me on the shoulder. “That I do. Night, bud.”

I watch to make sure he gets inside okay, noting the tell-tale click of the door locking before I walk around to my house. It’s not until I’m lying in bed that it sinks in. He _locked_ the door. Luckily, I’m tired enough that I fall asleep despite my best efforts at chewing anxiously on that thought.


	4. Misunderstandings and celebrations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack accidentally insinuates a more wild night than he had, Joseph fails to successfully flirt, Amanda gets into her dream school, and Robert...takes two steps forward only to start worrying about the other shoe dropping.

My internal clock wakes me at my usual 5am. I flip it the bird and roll over.

An indeterminate time later, my phone buzzes, rattling against the bedside table. Growling under my breath, I reach for it and pry my eyelids open a crack. 5:35AM, and a text from Craig.

HEY BRO YOU UP? GONNA GET YOUR JOG ON WITH ME?

Ugh. What time did I even get to bed last night? One-something?

NOT THIS MORNING, I type back slowly. STAYED OUT WAY TOO LATE.

My eyes are sliding back shut when the phone vibrates in my hand.

ON A SUNDAY NIGHT?

Yeah, that wasn't the most mature thing I could have done.

ROBERT ASKED ME TO HANG OUT WITH HIM.

I want to go back to sleep, but Amanda will need breakfast before school and Robert...locked the door. The anxiety surges to life, not so much banishing sleepiness as brandishing a knife at it until it hides under the table. I roll out of bed, simultaneously tired and wound up, and take the phone into the kitchen with me to start breakfast. I've almost forgotten about Craig when the next text comes in.

HAHA, SOUNDS LIKE YOU HAD A WILD NIGHT, BRO. I'LL LET YOU SLEEP.

Maybe I should correct him, but I'm just relieved that I have an excuse to not keep the conversation going. THANKS, I text back, and set the phone on the counter.

Amanda wanders in, already dressed but still rubbing her eyes, as I get the cheese on the scrambled eggs melted. She pours herself a glass of apple juice and sits at the table.

"Have fun last night?" she asks as I set her plate down in front of her.

Robert's soft smile leaps to the front of mind. "Yeah. Yeah, I did."

"What time did you get back?"

She's staring at her eggs as she eats them. I set my plate down and sit as well. "Um...somewhere between one and two."

Now she looks up with a teasing grin. "On a school night? Shame on you, Dad. How dare you have fun doing something that doesn't revolve around me." The grin blooms into a full smile. "I'm glad you had fun. You should do that more often. And Robert needs to have more fun, too. You gonna go make him breakfast after I head out?"

I open my mouth, unsure how I'm going to answer, but a knock on the door saves me. "Be right back," I tell my daughter as I get up from the table.

Looking through the peephole, it's...Robert, looking every bit as rough as I expected him to. He's wearing the same clothes from last night and holding two take-out cups from the Coffee Spoon. I unlock the door and open it.

"Hey," he says, not looking at me.

"Hey," I answer, doing my best to turn that one syllable into the relieved hug I want to give him.

He thrusts a cup at me. CHAI ANTWOORD FOR JACK is scrawled on it in Sharpie.

"Thanks," I tell him as I take the cup and sip. "Mmmmm. I needed this."

Robert glances warily at me, and I can't help but smile. He relaxes a little.

"Come in, join us for breakfast. I just finished cooking, but the pan's still hot. Over easy, right?"

Now Robert looks relieved, too. "Yeah."

He follows me into the kitchen and sits a little awkwardly, not looking at Amanda, while I go back to the stove.

"Have a biscuit," she tells him cheerfully, nudging the plate over to him. "Want something to drink aside from the coffee?"

Robert glances at her, then at me as I open the fridge. "I'll take some of that apple juice," he says quietly.

"Sure thing," I say, pulling out the juice and the eggs. Put them on the counter, grab a glass, pour and hand it over. "Two eggs, or three?"

"Two," he mutters.

Comfortable silence fills the kitchen as I cook the eggs, Amanda eating and Robert sipping apple juice. I plate his eggs, grab a fork, and hand them both over.

"Want anything special on your biscuits while I'm up?"

He stares at them for a long moment. "Actually...can I get some plain toast?"

"Of course." I grab two slices of bread and stick them in the toaster. "How do you want it? Just hard enough to crunch, golden brown, almost burnt?"

Robert chuckles a little. "Just barely golden brown. Thanks."

I flash a smile at him and adjust the toaster.

"I'm heading out," Amanda announces. "Both of you, try to nap or something, okay? You look like the walking dead. Love you, Dad."

"I'll see what I can do," I tell her, grinning. "Love you too, Panda."

She skirts the table to hug me, then goes back to give Robert a quick hug, then she's grabbing her backpack and out the door. Robert's toast pops and I bring it to him on a napkin.

"Good kid," he mutters as he takes a piece of toast and prods the yolk of one egg with it.

I take a long drink of my chai and sigh in contentment. "Thank you for this, Robert," I say quietly. "I hadn't had a chance to make myself any coffee yet."

He chews a mouthful of toast for a minute. "Got up and realized I'd locked the door," he says, not looking at me. "Hadn't meant to do that."

In other words, he hadn't meant to send the message that he didn't want me in his house.

"I'm kind of glad you did. Leaving your door unlocked isn't exactly safe, even in a nice neighborhood like this."

Robert looks up, searching my face. Then he gives me a tiny smile. "If I tell you where I hide the spare key, will you use it to sneak in and murder me in the middle of the night?"

I'm more likely to sneak in and kiss his temple and then sneak back out. I grin. "Hey, didn't I tell you last night? I leave shit like that to my wife. O-or I _did_ ," I add, remembering that there's a 99% chance Ana's dead.

"Hey." Robert takes my free hand and squeezes gently. "I don't actually have a spare key hidden anywhere. That's just as unsafe as leaving your door unlocked." His eyes widen as he realizes he's just eliminated any passive way to invite me over in the mornings. "If you're serious about putting up with my hung-over ass," he mutters, looking away, "I'll make you a spare key."

I squeeze his hand. "I'd sleep better knowing I can check and make sure you're okay." I...think Robert's blushing? I give his hand another squeeze and then let go. "Eat before it gets cold," I tell him in a Dad voice.

He laughs and gives me a grateful look, and we both go back to our breakfasts. I notice that Robert isn't actually drinking his coffee, and refill his apple juice when he drains that. It's not a surprise when he finishes his breakfast and yawns.

"You want a blanket," I ask, "or just a sheet?"

Robert gives me a confused look.

"For taking a nap on my couch," I clarify like this is a Perfectly Normal Thing To Do.

Comprehension dawns, and Robert's cheeks get the slightest bit pink. "Uh...just a sheet is fine. Thank you."

"You got it. Sit tight."

I grab a sheet from the linen closet and a pillow from my bed and quickly make the couch into a makeshift bed. Robert squeezes my shoulder in thanks as I finish and lays down, having already kicked his hiking boots off by the door. I draw the blinds, even though he's rolled over to bury his face in the back of the couch.

"Let me know if you need anything," I tell him softly.

He raises one hand just long enough to flash me a thumbs-up, and I slip back into the kitchen to do dishes and set something in the crock pot for dinner. When that's done, I rummage through my clothes and find a generic tee and some sweatpants and leave them on the corner of the sink, then hit the linen closet again for a clean towel and put that on top of the clothes. I'm sure Robert will want to shower once he's more rested, and I'm a lovestruck sap who wants to provide everything for the object of my affection.

I slip into my room and wake the desktop to shoot Hugo a message on Dadbook, letting him know Ernest was out at the movies on a school night. There's a very flowery message from Damien inviting me to afternoon tea tomorrow, which I accept as formally as I can. Hugo messages me back thanking me, and then asking what movie it was. _Some romantic comedy_ , I type back. _Robert and I kind of snuck in so I don't really know what we were watching._

_Late night, huh?_

_Yeah. I'm exhausted._

_I bet,_ he answers. _Get some rest before the school day ends._

_Thanks. I will._

I put the computer back to sleep and grab the other pillow off my bed, then put it back. Robert's still asleep, I should take my shower before he wakes up. Unfortunately, the hot water relaxes me and undoes the effect of the caffeine. I throw on jeans and a tee-shirt and stretch out in the recliner, and I'm out like a light.

 

* * *

 

The beep of the microwave jerks me awake. I look around frantically, trying to remember what's going on, and see the sheet and blanket on the couch. Then I glance into the kitchen and see Robert in the clothes I left for him. He takes his coffee out of the microwave, turns, sees me looking, and gives me a hesitant smile. That's when I realize I'm beaming at him. 

"Thanks for..." he gestures at the clothes.

"You're very welcome," I tell him. "Nap okay?"

Robert comes into the living room and leans against the wall, sipping his coffee. "Yeah." He smirks. "I'd ask how yours was, but you slept through my showering _and_ ordering pizza."

"You-"

The doorbell rings.

Robert sets his coffee on the coffee table, grabs a credit card, and opens the door. A few quiet words exchanged, and when he closes the door, he's got two pizza boxes in his arms.

"All or nothing," he announces as he walks past me into the kitchen. "Supreme or cheese."

"No Hawaiian?" I ask, standing to follow him.

He freezes for just a second. "Never ordered from this place before," he says after a pause that's just a hair too long. "Didn't know how good they were."

"Hence the all or nothing. Good call."

"Yeah." Robert looks at me.

I look back, hopefully conveying that yes, he did reveal that inner part of himself last night and no, I'm not going to bring it up unless he does. Slowly, he relaxes again.

"So...which will it be? All, or nothing?"

"Give me one of each," I answer as I grab plates out of the dish drainer and offer them to him.

He grins at me. "Good call."

We spend a comfortable hour and a half on the couch, eating pizza and discussing some movie he found on TV. Robert's comments are scathing in places, effusive in others, and focused on technical aspects I'd never considered. It's very educational, and hearing him talk on a subject he's passionate about _without_ needing alcohol to open up like this...I almost wish the movie would never end. But alas, it does, and we watch the credits in silence. Robert doesn't thank the crew out loud, but his intense expression says he's thanking them in his mind.

"You want any more of that pizza?" he asks as we turn off the TV and stand up.

It wasn't bad, but it wasn't great. Amanda won't care, though. "I'll take some for my daughter. Two of each."

He snorts in amusement. "Sure."

I wrap Amanda's pieces up in plastic wrap, then wrap the leftovers and stack them on the counter. The boxes get folded and stuck by the trash can. "You're welcome to come by for dinner," I tell him as he picks them up. "It should be done about seven."

"Maybe," he says shortly, eyes averted.

"You're welcome to come by after dinner, too."

"We'll see."

He's sounding tense. I drop the subject. "Okay. I'm going to poke around the yard; I haven't had a chance to really check it out yet."

Robert gives me the borderline-hostile look. "You haven't...?"

I shake my head. "Couldn't bear to do the house-hunting myself. Packing was bad enough."

He looks away. "Yeah."

The silence stretches. I put my hand on his and squeeze gently.

"I'm...gonna go," he says quietly. "Catch you later."

"Okay."

I want to hug him as he walks slowly to the front door. I want to pull him into my arms and hold him, tell him everything's going to be okay, but I don't. The front door closes behind him and I step into the back yard.

All things considered, it’s a really nice back yard. The five-foot wooden fence is the perfect mix of keeping kids out, or dogs in, while still letting you talk to your neighbor. The covered patio is going to be great for parties. There’s a few bushes snuggling up to the fence, and a really nice cherry tree in the middle with a stone path leading to a wooden bench in front of it. There’s some sort of crescent-shaped ornamental pond cradling it from behind, with lilies and a stone lantern.

I want to sit on that bench with Robert, watching the sun set.

“Well! Hey there, neighbor!”

My romantic fantasies shatter and fade into Joseph, grinning and waving at me from over the fence. I wave back and wander closer. “Fancy meeting you here,” I joke.

Joseph laughs heartily. “Good one! You know, I wanted to thank you for helping out with the bake sale. We were able to raise enough money to re-paint the pews after Ernest spray-painted his rapper alias onto the backs. In ministerial terms, Ernest is ‘hard to reach’. In father terms,” he confesses, “he’s kind of a turd.”

“He’s certainly a handful,” I say, remembering last night’s run-in.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love working with kids! Although…” he sighs. “Sometimes I wish…”

I make an appropriately-interested noise.

“It’s kinda silly, but…” He takes a deep breath and says, “Do you ever wish you could just drop everything and go lounge around on a beach somewhere in the tropics? Drink fruity blended beverages…fall asleep on a hammock…you know, basically live out a Jimmy Buffet song.”

“I couldn’t leave my daughter,” I protest. “I’m all she has left. I wouldn’t do anything to endanger my ability to support her until she leaves for college.”

Joseph looks taken aback. “Well, obviously not. But…don’t you ever just think about it?”

“I have no idea what living out a Jimmy Buffet song entails.”

“It’s basically lounging on a beach and drinking fruity frozen cocktails,” he says.

I look at him with a neutral expression. “I don’t drink.”

Joseph blinks at me. “You don’t…not at all?”

“Not at all. My father was an alcoholic.”

“They don’t have to be alcoholic drinks,” he backpedals. “Just…fruity frozen drinks. On a hammock. On a tropical island.”

I scratch the back of my head and wince. “I’m not sure I’d like that. I’d rather be _doing_ something than just sitting around doing nothing. Especially if I was there by myself.”

“What if you weren’t by yourself?” Joseph asks slightly desperately. “What if you were there with someone…special?”

The thought of Robert in a speedo suddenly captures _all_ my attention. He’d need someone to rub sunscreen all over his body…and then of course when I was done, he’d return the favor…

I suddenly realize I’m blushing and that Joseph’s calling my name.

“Sorry,” I tell him, reaching for the first excuse that comes to mind. “I need to check on the…crock pot.”

Without waiting for a response, I hurry inside and into my bedroom, hoping Joseph didn’t notice if there was anything suspicious about the front of my pants. I think a cold shower is definitely called for, but first…I’m going to think a little more about Robert and the importance of UV protection for the prevention of skin cancer.

 

* * *

 

The mail’s arrived when I’m done with my shower, and there’s a large yellow envelope in with the other things. A large yellow envelope from Amanda’s dream school. I set it on the coffee table for her when she gets home and go actually check on the crock pot. It’s fine, of course, and I duck into the garage to start putting that to rights. When Amanda comes home, I listen for her reaction but there’s…nothing. Oh god, I hope it wasn’t a rejection letter, it looked too big and thick for that…

I go inside the house. The envelope is still right where I left it. Amanda is nowhere to be seen; I take it and knock lightly on the door to her room.

“Manda?”

“What?” she shouts back.

“You got an envelope…”

“I’m kinda busy right now,” she shouts. “Can you come back later?”

“…it’s from HIA.”

Amanda opens her door with a jerk. “Horne Institute for the Arts??” she demands.

I give her a teasing grin. “But if you’re that busy, I can come back later…”

“Father, please!” She makes grabby hands at the envelope.

I let her have it, and she promptly tears it open with her teeth. Spitting out a piece of envelope, she pulls out the contents and skims the top sheet. The suspense is killing me.

“I can’t believe this,” she murmurs, face blank.

Oh no.

“I GOT IN!”

She got in. My little girl got into her _dream school_. I don’t think I’ve ever been more ecstatic in my life. I lunge to hug her, but she’s lunging to hug me and we’re both hopping around in circles, hugging each other, laugh-crying and making inarticulate sounds of disbelieving glee. We break apart so she can read the letter again, then hands it to me to read while she babbles excitedly.

“Of course you got in,” I tell her, pulling her in to kiss her hair. “You’re a great student, you nailed that interview, and your photography is incredible.”

“Wait…Dad…” The joy drains out of her. “I know this school’s really expensive…”

“Sweetie, this is your dream school.” I put the letter down to hug her. “Between the scholarships and the survivor’s benefits, we can make it work. But we probably want to see what core classes you can take at the local community college over the summer for cheap, and just transfer those credits.”

Amanda brightens. “Yeah! That way I don’t have to get a summer job! But Horne’s so far away…”

I put my hands on her shoulders. “When I was your age, I sold most of what I owned, packed everything that was left, and went on a road trip with you and your mother. I moved almost a thousand miles away – just about as far as you’re going – with nothing waiting for me at the end and nothing to go back to. You’re going to your dream school and coming back to your dad and your friends.” I kiss her forehead. “You’re gonna be fine, sweet pea.”

She hugs me. “I guess I’ve been waiting for this road trip my whole life, huh?”

“Think of it as going on an adventure.”

“An adventure. I like that,” she declares.

I give her another hug before releasing her. “Now. Do you want celebration dinner tonight, or do you want to plan for it? I’ve got chicken and vegetables in the crock pot.”

Amanda grins. “Is Robert coming over for dinner?”

Don’t blush, Jack.

“He said maybe, but that was before we got the mail. Does your decision rest on whether or not he’s joining us?”

“Tell him he _has_ to come over,” she says impishly. “Celebration dinner is about the people, not the food. I want to be celebrated.”

I laugh. “Alright, I’ll text him.”

“Do it now,” she urges, moving so she can see my phone as I did it out. “I want to see.”

“Okay, okay…”

HEY. AMANDA GOT INTO HER DREAM SCHOOL, JOIN US FOR CELEBRATION DINNER? CHICKEN AND DUMPLINGS, BUT WITH BISCUITS.

Anxiously, we wait for a response.

OK IF I BMOB?

“Bee em oh bee?” Amanda asks.

It takes me a minute to reverse the pronouns. “Bring his own bottle.”

She shrugs. “Fine by me.”

YES.

Robert’s text comes back a few seconds later.

THEN I’LL BE THERE @ 7

Amanda cheers and I let her go back to her homework, but a thought nags at me. She wants to be celebrated, but she didn’t ask for The Emmas to come over.

Robert knocks on the door at seven sharp, as I’m pulling biscuits out of the oven. Amanda lets him in and practically drags him into the kitchen, babbling about her school.

“-and the dorms are right near a bunch of cafes and there are all these galleries nearby and there’s a discount if you bring your student ID and-”

“Sounds great,” Robert says quietly as they sit down. He looks mildly tipsy, and he’s holding a half-empty whiskey bottle in one hand.

“-students get their own studio space once they’re seniors, and we get all the professional photo editing software for free!”

“You scored big,” Robert tells her, toasting her with the bottle.

I split the biscuits and break them into halves, which I then arrange in soup plates and ladle chicken and vegetables and creamy sauce over. Amanda’s on the subject of roommates now.

“A good roommate can be a lifelong friend,” I point out. “Look at me and Craig. But don’t even get me started on bad roommates.”

Robert gets a look in his eye, and I know what’s coming. I set plates down in front of everyone and dig in so my expression won’t give it away as he spins a tall tale about a horrific roommate. Amanda hangs on every word, morbidly fascinated until the end.

“…just kidding,” Robert finishes.

Amanda groans and punches his shoulder.

While we eat, we discuss the fourteen-hour road trip she’ll need to make to come home for the holidays, and what kind of used vehicle she could potentially earn depending on her final high school grades and the classes she takes at the community college over the summer. She looks so vibrant, so excited, and all I can think of is…I did it right. I may not have done much else with my life, but I took in a newborn child and raised her to adulthood and now she’s going to go to her dream school and be amazing. If I do nothing else in my life, I raised a successful daughter, and that’s enough for me.

Robert’s progressed into tipsy bordering on drunk by the time dinner’s over, and he puts on a cheesy monster movie for us to heckle. Amanda sits between us, which is only mildly disappointing because she and Robert get on so well. They tag-team the movie, unleashing witty comments and scathing criticism and I just bask in how much they’re enjoying it. By the time the credits start rolling, Robert’s in the adorable squishy relaxed state of inebriation and Amanda clearly agrees with my assessment because she helps him thank the crewmembers and then hugs us both before excusing herself to get ready for bed.

“Thanks for dinner,” he says quietly once she’s left the room. “This was…a nicer evening than I had planned. Nicer being drunk around friends than strangers.”

My heart aches for him. “If you ever need company, just text me. I’ll come keep you company.”

He gives me a bewildered sort of look. “You’d do that? Even if I bugged you at midnight and I was already trashed?”

“Even if all you need is someone to help you get home safe,” I say, my heart in my throat.

Robert sways on the couch, like half of him wants to lean against me but the other half doesn’t think that’s such a good idea. “Okay,” he says finally. He looks at the bottle; there’s still about a quarter left. Carefully, he twists the cap back on. “I’m not sure I should stand up just yet,” he says slowly.

“I’ll get you some water,” I offer. It only takes a minute.

We sit on the couch for several minutes while Robert sips his water, letting the silence grow soft and comfortable. Half a second glass later, I help him to his feet so he can use the bathroom and he looks…pretty steady.

“Heading out?” I ask when he comes back, and he nods. I hand him his bottle. “Need help getting home?”

“Nah,” he says, but he hesitates. “Might need help locking the door, though.”

He fishes in his back pocket and takes out a brand-new key. It gleams, and when he hands it to me, the edges are still sharply crisp.

It’s a key to his house. He really made me a spare key.

“Okay,” I say softly. “Let’s get you into bed.”

The night is soft and cool. We walk side by side, almost touching but not quite, and Robert fumbles with the key before I gently push his hand aside and use my new key to unlock his door. He doesn’t object as I guide him to the bedroom and help him pull his boots off. I leave him a glass of water and take two aspirin out of the bottle already on his bedside table.

“Sleep well,” I murmur as he stretches out with a groan. “Remember, if you’re not up to facing the world, I’ll come and cook for you.”

He grunts, and I choose to take that as agreement. Using my new key again, I lock the front door and walk back to my house. As I’m falling asleep, it occurs to me that I think I went on a date with Robert…and I _may_ have given a few people the impression that something more exciting happened than just pizza and half a movie.

Oops.

 

* * *

 

I’m dressed and outside waiting when Craig comes out of his house with River strapped to his chest. He reaches for his phone, looks up, sees me, and puts it away while jogging over. We go around the cul-de-sac and over to the park, circle it, and come back.

“I need to do this more often,” I pant as we come back around to his house. “I am _way_ too out of shape.”

“You’re always welcome to join me, bro,” he replies. “Just remember to hydrate and get enough rest. You nap after that crazy night you had the other night?”

He’s carefully not looking at me. I sigh.

“Craig, remember college?”

“Which part, bro?” he jokes.

“The part where I was voted Most Likely To Be A Eunuch?”

Craig’s cheeks flush slightly.

“I went bar-hopping with Robert and Mary, then Robert and I went in search of pizza and snuck into some comedic romance playing at _way_ too late at night. The most exciting thing that happened was when I threw a rock at a stop sign and hit a car instead.”

“…oh,” he says, giving me a sheepish grin. “Sorry, bro.”

I clap his shoulder. “It’s fine. If it were anyone else, I would have assumed the same thing. Same time tomorrow?”

Craig grins. “You got it, bro.”

He goes into his house; I take a quick cold shower and get breakfast ready for Amanda. We eat, she leaves for school, but there’s no sign of Robert. I pack up a pair of biscuits, screw up my courage, and walk over to his place. A quick peek into the bedroom shows him still dead to the world so I put on coffee, fry his eggs, toast some bread, and leave breakfast covered on the stove before leaving.

Now what? Tea with Damien isn’t until two.

Lacking anything better to do, I head over to the Coffee Spoon. Mat greets me enthusiastically.

“Chai Antwoord again?” he asks. “Or are you feeling adventurous?”

“Sell me on something adventurous,” I answer, grinning. “But get me a Chai Antwoord to sip while I listen.”

We talk about menu items, both the components and the music, for about half an hour. He talks me into trying something frothy, but I like the chai better.

“Next time,” he mock-vows as my phone vibrates.

I pull it out to check who texted me, and it’s Robert.

THX

“Something wrong?” Mat asks, seeing me frown.

I show him the text. “I’m not sure what he said.”

“Oh, he said ‘thank you’. He just…left out most of the letters and used an X to represent the sound the C-K-S makes.”

YOU’RE WELCOME, I type back, resisting the urge to add a heart emoji. I do give in to the blushing smile emoji, though.

“You made quite an impression on him,” Mat says casually.

“Hm?” I reply cleverly, ripping my attention away from the memory of Robert’s smile.

“He came in here yesterday morning demanding to know what you’d had when you were in here on…”

“Thursday.”

“…right, Thursday. And I remembered it was the Chai Antwoord because I said ‘spicy’ but you didn’t know what I meant and…anyway…that’s the first time I’ve ever seen him get a drink for someone else, so I’m guessing you really hit it off both before and after the cookout.” Mat grins at me. “None of my business how well it’s going or what you two are up to. I just like seeing him _feeling_ something instead of moping around all depressed, you know?”

“We haven’t even known each other for a week,” I protest, forcibly keeping my hand away from the spare key in my pocket.

Mat shrugs. “Like I said, not my business, but man…whatever you’re doing? Keep doing it, because I wanna see him happy again.”

Great, I’m blushing, aren’t I?

“I’ll, uh, do my best,” I say awkwardly. “Thanks.”

I do a little grocery shopping before putting together a light snack to tide me over until tea. Eggs, more apple juice, butter. A pint of strawberry cheesecake ice cream. Basics. Then I google what to wear to Victorian tea, but most of what comes up is for women, and I don’t have a suit. I settle for dress shoes, black slacks, and a deep blue button-up shirt with long sleeves. Then, at three minutes until two, I march across the cul-de-sac to Damien’s distinctive house. It…looms, there’s no other word for it. There’s gargoyles perched on little pillars in front of the steps and an ornate bat’s-head knocker on the door. I knock.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

The door opens slowly with an ominous creak, and Damien beams at me.

“Jack! A pleasure to have you in my home.” There’s a foyer behind him, complete with a majestic staircase and oil paintings of what I assume are dead relatives. “Please, let me show you around!”

I smile at him. “I would be delighted to see more of your lovely home.”

He pinks slightly. “Y-you would?”

“I grew up in a farming town in Indiana. Your house is _by far_ the most interesting one I’ve ever been in, and I would love to see more of it.”

Definitely flushing now, he gestures me inside. “Then by all means, allow me to give you the grand tour!”

Damien leads me around the first floor, showcasing his parlor, sitting room, and auxiliary sitting room while telling me about the renovations he made to take a modern house and turn it into something both historically accurate to the Victorian period and still equipped with modern comforts. Then we go up the majestic staircase and pass what must be Lucien’s room, to judge by the bumper stickers and caution tape. At the end of the hall, he opens the door with a flourish and it’s a two-story library with an actual library ladder for accessing the balcony running around the room. There’s a stunning display of butterflies in glass cases, and in front of them, a piece of furniture I can only describe as a _divan_ without knowing if the word is accurate or not. Ten-foot arched windows look out onto the backyard and I can only stare, gawking, trying to look at everything at once while Damien is clearly tickled by my appreciation.

I do my best to actually _express_ my appreciation, and he tells me tidbits like how much Victorians liked big windows, the occasional controversy regarding reading “tawdry” novels, and that he pinned the butterflies himself. Then I follow him back down to the sitting room, where finger foods have already been set out on a beautiful, tiered silver tray. I take a seat in one of the high-backed chairs and Damien pours the tea.

“This is _amazing_. I never thought I’d ever get a chance to have real tea – the experience, I mean, not the beverage.”

My enthusiasm makes Damien light up and he talks about the tradition of tea while we eat tiny sandwiches and things. I compliment his cape, learn that it’s actually a cloak, and then he talks excitedly about how he arrived at his current style and how marvelous it is that he can select period-appropriate things to wear: cloaks, waistcoats, top hats, and even binders.

Binders? Oh. I had no idea, and that somehow makes it _better_.

“You wear top hats?” I ask, in case he hadn’t meant to let that secret slip and was feeling self-conscious about it.

He arches one elegant eyebrow at me. “You don’t?”

“I couldn’t pull it off nearly as well as you,” I tell him. “But your home is really impressive! I can tell you put a lot of work into this place and I must say, I’m a little envious.”

He looks like he hadn’t been expecting that. “Th-thank you,” he stammers. “No one’s ever complimented my home before.”

“Were they blind?” I joke. “Because it’s _astounding._ You really made it into a reflection of your personal style. I lived in my old house eighteen years but I’m not even sure I have a style for it to have reflected.”

“That’s…very generous of you to say,” Damien says in a tone of moderate awe. “And although I have not known you long, I feel confident in saying that I’m certain your home reflects the aura of warmth and comfort you carry with you.”

It’s my turn to stammer thanks. With both of us flustered, I ask him how he got interested in all of this and he takes the change of subject gratefully, telling me about his childhood love for art, history, fashion, and taxidermied animals. He waxes poetic on the balancing act of adhering to the ideals without slavishly embracing the flaws. What he’s creating in his own life is not how Victorians lived _then_ , but how they would live in our modern world. Then he asks me about my hobbies and passions, and somewhat hesitantly I talk about cooking and what it’s like to take an act necessary for life – eating – and turn it into an expression of comfort and belonging.

Only briefly do I touch on my mother and little Maddie.

“A natural caregiver,” Damien says, nodding in understanding. “That explains the warmth and comfort you project. No wonder you have gotten along so well with Robert – the poor man has been living in emotional darkness devoid of warmth for far too long. You are like the sun, awakening life in what had appeared to be dead, reviving cold branches and cajoling seeds into putting forth tender shoots and braving the world.”

Aaand I’m blushing.

“If you have had your fill,” Damien says, suddenly bright again, “then on the note of growing things I would love to show you my garden!”

“For that,” I tell him, “I would go hungry.”

The garden, it turns out, is the entire expansive backyard which has been landscaped _beautifully_. Flowers I don’t even know the names for fill the area with bright colors and sweet scents. Like my house, it has a stone path, but his leads to a wooden structure that looks like the shell of a room and is absolutely covered with flowering vines that climb the poles and beams thickly enough that it actually provides shade. Damien tells me this is an arbor, and of course there’s chairs to sit in and enjoy the view. There’s gargoyles on pedestals scattered around, and even a three-tiered birdbath…fountain…thing.

“Victorians took flowers and floral arrangements very seriously,” he says once I’ve stopped gawking and making inarticulate sounds of admiration. “You see, it was considered uncouth to discuss personal and romantic relationships in public, so lovers and friends alike would use bouquets to send secret messages to each other.”

“Oh, the language of flowers!”

“Yes,” he says, smiling. “But even more interesting is that one flower could mean different things depending on the other plants it was paired with. One had to be extremely careful, as even the style in which the ribbon was tied around the bouquet affected the message.”

I let out a low whistle, impressed with the intricacy. “Sounds like you’d need an interpreter to tell you what your bouquet said.”

Damien laughs. He talks me through the various meanings of a few flowers before the strains of a…harpsichord?...waft through the air and he looks embarrassed.

“Ah…my cellular telephone,” he mutters. “I do apologize, but I must excuse myself for a moment.”

“Take your time,” I assure him. “I’m just going to admire your amazing garden.”

He flashes me a grateful look and hurries down the path a bit. Whatever conversation he’s having, he looks _incensed_ , and I wasn’t even sure what that would look like before now. Then he hangs up and hurries back.

“Jack, my sincerest apologies but there is an urgent matter that I must attend to, so I’m afraid I must take my leave.”

“Everything alright?” I ask, concerned. “Anything I can do to help?”

“No one has been harmed,” he says, looking away, “but I have been…summoned to the high school to collect my wayward son for disciplinary action.”

Ah. One of _those_. “Do you want company?”

Damien looks at me in surprise. “I…if you are willing, I would greatly appreciate having another parent at my side. This is one of Lucien’s more…elaborate stunts.”

“Then by all means,” I tell him, “allow me to offer you the use of my horseless carriage, and myself as a driver.”

He smiles. “Thank you, Jack. You are a treasure, and our neighborhood is made all the richer for your inclusion.”


	5. It's SUPER effective!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The other shoe falls. Jury's still out on whose shoe it was, or who it fell on, or if there was a second shoe on the grassy knoll.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Second shooter on the grassy knoll" is a JFK assassination conspiracy theory.

Hugo is waiting in the school office. He and Damien greet each other in a way that suggests this isn’t their first time to the “our kids are in trouble” rodeo. We all go into the dimly-it boiler room and down a rickety flight of stairs to a sub-basement where unhappy voices drift up to us. In a pretty horrific-looking room lit by a single naked bulb, another teacher is glaring at Ernest and Lucien, who has a bloody nose. There’s…a bunch of bricks, most of them stacked into a cylinder, and some masonry tools.

In shouts and mutters, the story comes out. Ernest promised to pay Lucien to read “The Cast of Amontillado” for him, but then reneged on payment so Lucien tricked him into coming down here by promising him wine, and then attempted to brick him up. It took twenty minutes for Ernest to catch on, and then he punched Lucien in the nose. I’m trying so hard not to laugh. Ernest glares at me when he notices. Both of them wind up with suspension for the rest of the week, which I don’t think they actually see as punishment. Mostly because they high-five at the pronouncement.

I drive Damien and his son home. Lucien breaks the silence first, protesting that he’s not going back to therapy and Damien…is a concerned and involved parent who treats his son with respect. Instead of being mad, he’s concerned and tries to encourage Lucien to look for a summer job so he can save up for his own car. I’m glad I’m driving so neither of them can see the tears in my eyes because fuck, Damien is the kind of father I wish I’d had.

Lucien hops out and hurries into the house the instant the car comes to a stop in Damien’s driveway. I hear a sigh from the back seat before Damien climbs out and comes around to the driver’s window, which I roll down.

“Thank you for your patience,” he says. “I didn’t expect to have that conversation in front of you. He and I have a lot we need to work out, and- Jack! Are you alright?”

Well, he saw the tears. “I’m fine, I assure him. “It’s just…you’re the kind of father I wish my father had been.”

Damien looks concerned. “I will not pry, but I hope you will allow me to invite you over again. And, should you need an understanding ear…”

I smile at him. “I will, and thank you. Even with its interruption, this was a lovely afternoon.”

He bows with a flourish to hide that his cheeks are pink again, and goes up the walk as I back out of the driveway.

On an impulse, I go back to the grocery store. It's Tuesday, and the hot, messy crunch of tacos appeals to me. While I'm picking out produce, I text Robert.

TACO TUESDAY! SERVING UP FUN AT 7 IF YOU WANT TO JOIN US. ;)

There's no response by the time I get to checkout. Or when I check out. Or get back home. Or finish making homemade salsa and put it in the fridge. Or when Amanda gets home. I forcibly remind myself that I've known Robert less than a week, one pseudo-date does not mean we're dating, and that it is a little weird how many meals we've shared considering our brief acquaintance. Still, when dinnertime rolls around and there's no knock at the door while Amanda and I are enjoying delicious tacos, I'm more than a little disappointed but I try not to let it show. We feast on crunchy, meaty treats, put the leftovers away, and she does homework while I do dishes. I think lasagna is in order for tomorrow's dinner, and I rummage around to make sure I have everything. I will not text Robert letting him know there's plenty of leftovers to have for lunch. I will _not_. We are not glued together at the hip, and he has no obligation to spend any time with me.

Doesn't make me any less worried that something happened.

Sleep doesn't come easily and when it does, it's fitful. I keep waiting for my phone to vibrate, for Robert to text, but he doesn't. At quarter to midnight I have to squash the impulse to put on clothes and see if he's at Jim and Kim's. At half-past three I tell myself firmly that it would be an abuse of trust to let myself into his house and make sure he's gotten safely to bed. At five I get up and put on jogging clothes.

"Rough night, bro?" Craig asks as we jog around the cul-de-sac.

"Yeah. Couldn't sleep."

"Take a nap after breakfast," he suggests. "One thing college prepared me for is the importance of naps."

That makes me laugh. We finish our jog and wave as we go into our respective houses. My cold post-run shower makes me feel more awake, but I'm still worried. Making and eating breakfast goes without incident, and once Amanda's off to school I'm off to Robert's with my heart in my throat.

His front door is unlocked, which weirdly reassures me a little. It means he's been out and back, because I locked it behind me yesterday morning. I call his name softly as I enter, but there's no response. Coffee on to brew, oven heating, and I check the bedroom. He's sprawled across the bed - alone - in a different position. I fill his water glass and set out aspirin, trying not to get distracted by the fact that I can see one bare arm and half of his back and I want to _kiss that skin_ , oh my god, Jack no. Get out of there.

Biscuits. Eggs over easy. Bacon. Toast. Cover it, leave it on the stove, mug by the coffee machine, and _leave._ Lock the door behind me. Walk down to the Coffee Spoon because I didn't make myself any coffee and because maybe Robert stopped in yesterday. Maybe he'll stop in while I'm there. Maybe he'll text. God, I'm a mess.

Mat looks up as I enter, and his smile falls. "I'm gonna suggest a decaf for you this morning, Jack. You look like you're ready to chew the walls." He snaps his fingers. "I've got just the thing! Sit, I'll bring it to you."

Guiltily grateful, I sit on a comfy couch and try to listen to the softly-playing music instead of fidgeting with my phone. Mat brings me a minty sort of latte...mocha...thing and a cinnamon scone. I accept both gratefully and alternate sipping and nibbling. 

"It's good," I tell him, making him smile in relief. "They're good. I like them both. Thank you."

Mat perches on an ottoman nearby. "I don't wanna pry, but...everything okay?"

I sigh. "Did you hear what Lucien and Ernest got up to yesterday?" Mat nods, and I say, "Watching Damien with his son just sorta hit me a bit hard because he's an amazing father and I..."

"Don't _even_ sell yourself short," Mat warns me.

"...I wish _my_ father had been like that," I finish dryly.

"Oh man, my bad." Mat rubs the back of his head awkwardly. " _Definitely_ don't want to pry. Oh! But that reminds me, there's a concert I've got tickets for tonight, and I...uh...I love _going_ to concerts? But I hate being alone in a crowd of people. Robert was in here after you left yesterday and he suggested I ask you. Said you're...um...calming, and I have to agree, so...you interested?"

I think about spending another evening worrying about Robert.

"What time?"

Mat beams. "Starts at eight. I'll pick you up at seven?"

"I'll have to put the lasagna in early, but sure." The way his face lights up at _lasagna_ makes me grin. "If you and your daughter want to have dinner with us, stop by at six."

"That sounds _great_ ," Mat says enthusiastically.

"I'll text Amanda, but I'm sure she'd be okay with watching Carmensita for the evening."

Mat clasps my hand in both of his. "Jack, you are a _godsend_. I'm a friend of the band that's headlining, so I didn't want to miss their show, but..."

I smile at him. "Hey, I know how scary it is to be somewhere and not know anyone. And you're my neighbor, how could I _not_ help you out?"

"Guy that lived there before you didn't much care for music," Mat says dryly.

"His loss," I say loftily. "I'm gonna go home and see if I can catch a few winks. I didn't sleep very well last night." At the last second, I close my mouth on _If Robert comes in, tell him there's still tacos at my house_.

"Yeah, rest up," Mat jokes. "I'll see you at six."

The walk back is quiet. I stretch out on the couch with my phone on the coffee table, and I'm out like a light.

 

* * *

 

My stomach wakes me around noon, and I text Amanda sharing my plans for the evening. She is _completely_ on board with them, to judge by the exclamation points in her reply. Robert didn't text. Should I text him? Should I go over there? Should-

I peek out my door and see that Robert's pickup truck is gone.

Quietly worrying and telling myself not to, I re-heat beans and taco meat and have Wednesday Nachos with the broken taco shells and a handful of tortilla chips. Making lasagna, at least, keeps me distracted for a good chunk of the afternoon and cleaning for guests (guests!) takes care of the rest. Amanda comes home and throws herself into her homework while the lasagna bakes. At ten to six, I take the it out to cool and slide the garlic bread in while Amanda sets the table and puts the salad in the middle. At six on the dot, there's a knock on the door.

Mat and Carmensita are standing eagerly on the front step and I wave them warmly in. Before I close the door, I glance towards Robert's house. His pickup is back. He hasn't texted.

Despite my gnawing worry, dinner is bright and cheerful. Mat's ecstatic for Amanda when she proudly tells him she got accepted into her dream school, and Carmensita peppers her with excited questions about the campus. They barely notice when Mat and I clear the table, put leftovers in the fridge, and do the dishes.

"Amanda?" I call as I make sure I have phone, keys, and wallet. "We're heading out. No arson or larceny. One eight-ounce plastic cup of ice cream each, no going over the top. Love you!"

"Got it," she calls back. "Blackmail and murder, eight ounces of ice cream. Love you too!"

Mat chuckles as we leave the house and climb into his car.

“So who’s playing?” I ask once we’re on our way.

“PUP,” Mat answers enthusiastically. “Cool little indie pop punk rock band out of Canada. Should be a fun one!”

“I’m not sure what all those words sound like when applied to music,” I confess, “but I’ll take your word for it.”

Mat laughs. “Don’t worry, I’ll understand if it’s not your thing.”

It’s about a twenty-minute drive, but Mat plays some of PUP’s music to give me an idea of what we’ll be hearing and it’s…surprisingly good. I’m not sure how to _describe_ the music, but I’m enjoying it and Mat looks thrilled. Parking is still pretty open, which I guess is the reason we’re here early, and there’s a short line to get in. It’s a small venue, with a stage at one end and a bar at the other, and I think I’m one of the oldest people here.

A couple of people greet Mat, high-fiving and hugging him, and he looks pleased to see them but otherwise a bit uncomfortable with all the strangers. He nods at the bar, and I follow him over. A few of the older concert-goers tip their drinks at him and eye me curiously. Mat points to a tap and the bartender fills a plastic cup, then looks at me.

“Designated driver,” I lie easily, my years at college preparing me for this moment.

Mat gives me a funny look, but suggests we check out the merch and leads me away from the bar.

“Designated driver?” he asks when we’re out of earshot of the bar.

“It’s easier than explaining that I don’t drink,” I tell him.

He gives me a look that says he doesn’t want to pry, but the curiosity is killing him.

“My middle name is Daniel. That ought to tell you all you need to know about my dad’s relationship with alcohol.”

“Ouch, man, I’m sorry. Your dad sounds like a real piece of work.”

I shake my head. “It’s okay. So, merch?”

We go over to a small both in the corner with a selection of shirts and records and a teenager in questionably ratty clothes who yells at me like a marketplace vendor hawking his wares. He turns out to be a friend of Mat’s. Or Mat’s a friend of his mom, I’m not sure how that goes. His name is Pablo, apparently, and when Mat mentions I’m a friend I get an enthusiastic bro-hug which years of friendship with Craig have prepared me for. He and Mat chat for a bit, teasing each other about a band that doesn’t seem to exist. I pick out a shirt for Amanda, and then when Pablo excitedly tells me I can get a second one for just two dollars more, I grab one for myself as well.

“Hey, the opener’s coming on,” Mat says. “Let’s grab a good spot.”

“Like halfway down the wall, where we don’t risk getting swept into the crowd?” I point at a likely place.

Mat grins. “Yeah, like that.”

We get situated as the opening band introduces themselves as Jonathan Jones and the Speakeasy Choir, and Mat groans.

“Here,” he says, pulling foam earplugs out of a pocket and handing them over. “Trust me. They’re _not_ your kind of music.”

A little intimidated, I put the earplugs in just as the band starts playing the most cacophonous noise I’ve ever had the misfortune of being exposed to. It seems to take forever for their set to end, but finally, thankfully, it does and we take our earplugs out. More people are streaming in, filling the small venue uncomfortably, and we exchange a quick high-five for our prime spot. Mat tells me how he loves being at concerts, in a room full of people connecting to the music and each other. It’s just the before and after parts he’s not so fond of.

The crowd rushes to the stage as PUP starts playing, jostling and forming a weird whirlpool of a mosh pit. Boy, I’m glad we’re safe against the wall and not trying to keep our balance in that riot! But the music is good, and I’m tempted to see if Pablo has any CDs left after the show. Once PUP finishes their encore and the crowd lets them retreat, the flow of people starts to drain out the door. I follow Mat as he says goodbye to a couple of people, brohugs Pablo, and we finally escape outside.

“Pablo wanted you to have this,” he says as he hands me a CD. “I would have bought you one, but he insisted. Thanks for helping me stay somewhere near my comfort zone tonight, and _especially_ for dinner.”

I smile at him. “Thanks for introducing me to music I never would have considered otherwise, and I really like cooking for people who appreciate it. I’d love to have you over again sometime.”

“Hey, Mat!”

We turn to look, and it’s PUP. Mat chats with them briefly before they head out, and we head back to Mat’s car. As he drives us home, he tells me a bit about the little band he used to play in, back in the day, and how they toured all over even though they were just barely scraping by.

“Still sounds worth it,” I tell him. “I spent the first half of my life in a little podunk town in Indiana, and the second half of my life in Maple Bay.”

“Music builds a community,” he agrees. “Especially in a town like this. Just a lot of positive energy and good vibes. You’ll see. I’m hijacking you for the next concert I’m going to. If you’re okay with that,” he adds, glancing at me.

I laugh. “The price of my companionship is you let me make you dinner first.”

“Deal,” he says, grinning. “Being a single dad is rough sometimes. It’s a lonely feeling.”

“Tell me about it. Even before we got the news about Ana, she was on deployment for months at a time. I think I’ve been a single dad for most of my life. But the neighborhood is nice and friendly.”

“Yeah, it is that. We’re there for each other. I’m really glad you moved in, Jack.”

“So am I,” I say fervently, thinking of Robert. “So am I.”

When we get back to the cul-de-sac and check on the girls, they’re doing each other’s makeup. Mat collects his daughter and they say their goodbyes, and I present Amanda with the shirt I bought her.

“I guess the show went well,” she says, admiring her new swag.

“Yeah, I really liked it. Mat’s going to take me to the next one he goes to, and we’re going to have them over for dinner in exchange. Plus he got me a CD,” I add. “So there’s gonna be some new tunes in the car, Manda Panda.”

She laughs. “About time you got something new in your music collection, Pops.”

Grinning, I mock-order her to bed.

In the privacy of my room, I take out my phone. No new texts, no missed calls.

CONCERT WAS GREAT, BUT I MISSED YOU.

My finger hovers over ‘send’ but when it comes down, it’s on ‘backspace’ instead. I put my phone down and crawl into bed, wondering why Robert seems to be avoiding me.

 

* * *

 

There's no text from Robert when I wake up. Thankfully, jogging with Craig and telling him about the concert distracts me enough that he doesn't pick up on my irrational worry about Robert. Amanda's excited about working on a project for school, which means she bolts her breakfast and jets.

Okay, Jack. Breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Good. You can do this.

Robert's key is on its own ring so it doesn't get lost with the rest of my keys. Which...are just my house key and my car key. I walk over to his house, my heart in my throat and my palms sweaty. The key turns in the lock, which has me sigh in irrational relief because it's not like he would make me a spare key and then _change the locks_ or something. I turn the handle and pu-

The security chain rattles and the door stops a few inches in.

_If I didn't want you over here, I would have locked the door._

He doesn't want me there. _Robert doesn't want me there._ I feel cold, numb, and I want to curl up and cry right there on his front porch. Focus. Focus on something. Hands. Fingers. I pull the key out of the lock and twist the ring, separating it from my other keys. I want to text him - _I'm sorry, what did I do, do you hate me?_ \- but he doesn't want me there. He doesn't want to talk to me, or he would have texted. I don't know of any other way to apologize for whatever I did - did I come on too strong? - so I carefully thread the ring onto one of the links in the security chain and quietly pull the door shut.

Like a zombie, I walk back to my house and into the kitchen. We've only been here a week, but I take the broom from beside the fridge and start sweeping. I need to do something, anything, or I'm going to just lie down and I don't know when I'd find the strength to get back up. So I do what I've done since I was a child to ward away the despair: I clean. Every room gets swept. Every surface gets cleaned. Every article of clothing or cloth gets washed and dried and put away. Then there's nothing left to do, so I fall back onto my second refuge: cooking.

It's not that I _didn't_ buy the cherries with intent to make them into a pie, I just didn't mean to make it randomly on a Thursday. But hey, first week in the new house is reason to celebrate, right? And Amanda loves cherry pie. Pitting the entire bag of cherries is good busywork. Rolling out pie crust is good busywork. Cooking the cherries is good busywork. Assembling the pie is goo- But then the pie is in the oven and the timer is set and there's nothing left to do. Nothing to distract me.

Robert doesn't want me there.

Despair spirals up and sucks me down into purgatory, a nightmare realm of grey populated by the ghosts of my family and the aching emptiness of endless days alone.

The timer shatters reality, my purgatory breaking up and falling away, leaving me in the kitchen with potholders in my hands as I turn off the timer and pull the pie from the oven, setting it on a wire rack to cool. The front door slams open.

"Hey Pops, what smells like pie in here?" Amanda calls cheerfully, kicking the door closed and leaving her backpack on the floor as she comes into the kitchen.

"That would be pie," I answer dryly.

She makes a face at me and sits at the table. "How long until I can eat it?"

I set the timer for five minutes. She makes another face at me.

"Unless you _want_ to burn your mouth with fruity napalm again," I point out.

"I'm considering it," she deadpans. Then she grins. "Just kidding. So what's the occasion?"

"We have now officially lived here a week," I tell her, sitting down on the other side o the table.

"Good reason," she says. "But what's the _real_ reason?"

I give her a confused look, and she rolls her eyes.

"Come on, Dad. I know you better than that. The house smells like Windex and dryer sheets. You only bake _and_ clean when something's really bothering you." Her eyes widen. "Does this have anything to do with the fact that Robert hasn't been over in a few days?"

Damn my daughter for being clever. I bury my face in my hands. Amanda gets up and comes around the table to hug me, but then she goes and turns the timer off. I know she's cutting into the pie, I just don't have the strength to fight it. She sets a bowl down in front of me, cherry pie and a scoop of strawberry cheesecake ice cream melting on top. Her bowl has two slices of pie, but she also has a glass of milk.

I pick up my spoon and prod the pie. "I don't know what happened," I say tiredly. "He didn't wake up for breakfast on Tuesday, but he texted T-H-X while I was talking to Mat and I texted 'you're welcome' with a...smiley face emoji...and later he told Mat that I was _calming_ and suggested he ask if I would go to the concert with him. I invited him to dinner, but he didn't text back. He didn't wake up for breakfast yesterday either, and today...I couldn't get into his house."

The ice cream has cooled the pie filling. I stuff my mouth, distracting myself with flavor. For a handful of minute, we just enjoy our pie in silence.

"People are like dogs, remember?" Amanda says slowly. "They lash out because they're afraid of what other people will think and they don't want to feel weak. And...they lash out when they haven't been happy in a long time because they're afraid it's too good to be true and they don't want to get hurt."

"That...sounds like Robert," I admit.

"I think he's gonna come back," she declares. "You fed him. People _always_ come back when you feed them."

That makes me laugh. "Thanks, Panda. I just hope you're right."

"Of _course_ I'm right," she laughs. "I've been watching you feed people my whole life. If he doesn't come back, then he doesn't deserve to have you as a friend. But he'll come back." She licks her spoon. "And when he does, I'll make sure he knows he better not hurt my dad, or I'll kick his ass."

"Amanda! Language!"

"I meant his donkey!"

"He doesn't have a donkey."

"He _is_ a donkey."

"Amanda!"

She comes around the table to hug me. "I'm sorry, Dad. I'm angry that he's hurting you, but that's no excuse for calling him names. I know he's not doing it because he's mean, but he still needs to know that his actions hurt you. If he's worthy of being your friend, he'll apologize and not do it again."

I sigh. "I raised you right, sweet pea."

"Darn right you did." She kisses the top of my head and then lets go. "I'm gonna start my homework. Okay if I do it at the table?"

"That's fine," I tell her. "It's pizza night, but I'll be using the center island for that." Suddenly, I remember the message I left for Robert. "Better than fine, actually, because if anyone texts me you can answer without me having to wash my hands."

We clean up from our snack and get settled back in, Amanda keeping watch over my phone as it charges and me getting my hands all covered with flour. Sure enough, as my hands are the stickiest, my phone chirps.

"It's Robert," she confirms. "He says, _meet me at J and K_. And then he sent a second text with just a question mark."

Robert wants me to meet him at the bar. But more than that, he's _asking_. My heart jumps into my throat. I want to rush right out, but...

"I'm pretending to be you," Amanda announces. "I'm telling him you're making pizza but he's welcome to join us."

"That works," I say, relief bubbling up and pushing my heart back where it belongs. Then I hear a buzz and more typing. "What did he say? What did _you_ say?"

She puts the phone down and gives me a defiant look "He said _even if I'm drunk?_ and I said _even if you're drunk_."

In other words, he's already drunk.

"He says he'll be over in ten or fifteen."

"Good, I have time to get the dough off my hands." I shoot her a relieved smile. "Thanks, sweetie."

I've got the pizza dough on the pan when there's a knock at the door. Amanda takes the jar of homemade marinara and shoos me towards the living room. My heart's back in my throat as I unlock the door and pull it open. Robert looks like he woke up hung over and went right back to drunk, and our eyes meet for a single, heartwrenching instant before he looks away. I'm hugging him before either of us are aware that I've moved, breathing in the scent of leather and cloves and trying not to cry. Two shaky breaths and then I release him, embarrassed.

"I'm sorry," I say quietly. "I shouldn't...it's just...I was worried." God, it sounds so lame when I say it out loud.

"Don't apologize," Robert says in a rusty voice. "I was an asshole. I'm sorry, Jack." One hand comes up slowly, the spare key dangling from his fingers. "I won't do it again," he promises in a voice barely louder than a whisper.

Throat tight with the tears I won't shed and the words I can't say, I take the key and tuck it into my pocket. Robert looks relieved as it vanishes from sight.

"Are you okay?" I ask, wanting to pull him back into another hug.

He snorts. "Aside from being a shitfaced mess? I...think so."

"Okay." Tentatively, I smile at him. "Come in, sit down. Can I get you something to drink?"

"Water," he rasps.

He sits across from where Amanda's homework is spread out. I fetch him a glass of water and get a gentle smile that makes me want to both melt _and_ hug him to my chest. Amanda hands me the bag of shredded cheese and goes back to her homework.

"Mushrooms, pepperoni, and green peppers okay?" I ask, head in the fridge. I get a 'yes' from my daughter and a 'sounds good' from my crush.

It doesn't take long to strew sliced veggies and pepperoni on the pizza, and then I put it in the oven and set the timer.

"Thanks for not being angry," Robert says quietly as I sit next to him.

"Dad doesn't really get _angry_ ," Amanda says, not looking up from her homework. "He just gets tired and makes you feel guilty for hurting him."

Robert gives me an apologetic look. "It's unfairly effective."

She snorts. "Tell me about it. If you ever wonder why I'm such a good kid, just think about the look on my dad's face and remember I grew up with that."

He's trying not to laugh at my expression. "I can see that."

"Amanda, we're going to need the table in a couple of minutes."

"I know," she sighs, closing books.

As she packs up her things, Robert and I sit in silence that seems to buzz with all the things we aren't saying, and I'm keenly aware of the distance between my hand and his. It's a relief when the timer goes off and I have to get up to take the pizza out. While it's cooling, I take out plates and forks and pour or refresh drinks. Robert opts to stay with water; I pour myself some Coke. Then I cut the pizza into six slices and bring them, two to a plate, over to the table. Somewhat anxiously, I watch Robert's reaction. His eyebrows go up in surprise and hums around his first bite. Amanda and I are beaming at him, and he looks up only briefly before letting his eyes drop to his plate.

I think he's blushing a little.

Dinner is quietly comfortable, and Amanda excuses herself to her room when she's done eating. I'm pretty sure she's deliberately giving us space to talk, but I can't bring myself to care.

"Thanks for this," Robert says in a low voice. "For the pizza. For inviting me over. For taking the key back. I'm an asshole. I'm sorry. I'll try to do better."

I want to just wrap my arms around him and hold him. Instead, I lay my hand on his and my heart jumps when he turns to hold it. "We do pizza every Thursday, except for last week because we were moving. But it's a three-person pizza and it doesn't reheat well. When Ana was on deployment, we'd leave her slices and then throw them out or invite someone over that night. Consider this a permanent invitation to dinner on Thursdays." Shyly, I smile at him. "But if you're willing to put up with experimental pizza some other time, I'd like to try my hand at Hawaiian."

"I'm always up for bringing more good Hawaiian pizza into the world," he says, smiling back.

"Robert..." I look away, squeezing his hand just a bit tighter. "Did I overstep?"

"No, Jack." His hand tightens around mine. "I told you. I'm an asshole. I felt guilty about you being so good to me and I took it out on you. It was wrong of me and I won't do it again."

The words bleed out of me. "I was worried."

"I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you."

"You don't have to."

"Yes," he growls emphatically, "I _do_."

I give his hand a quick squeeze and smile at him when he turns to look at me. "Okay."

That one word seems to dissolve a lot of the tension making him hunch over, and he smiles uncertainly back.

"Movie?" I ask, nodding to the living room.

"Yeah," he murmurs, staring at me with incredulous delight. "I'd like that."

We adjourn to the couch and settle in to watch something - I don't even care what it is, I'm listening to Robert's commentary and focused on how close we're sitting. It feels _right_ , like the proper state of the universe has been restored.

Amanda comes in as the credits are rolling. "Cherry pie?" she asks, but Robert shushes her.

"Yes," he says shortly. Then he goes back to thanking the crew.

Amanda and I beam at each other. She disappears into the kitchen and comes back with warmed slices of pie on small plates, with forks, and distributes them before taking up the last third of the couch. Robert changes channel until he finds another movie, and we settle comfortably back in to nibble cherry pie and be entertained. Amanda hugs me and says goodnight to our guest when it's time for her to get ready for bed, and Robert's warm smile when he wishes her a good night makes me want to melt against him. When the second movie's credits come to an end, he sighs.

"I'm tired but I have to pee," he complains.

I have to forcibly stop myself from kissing the hollow of his cheek. "Want to camp on my couch tonight?"

"If I stand up, I won't be tired anymore." He sighs again. "Oh well."

Robert hauls himself upright and half-stumbles down the hall to the bathroom while I clean up pie dishes.

A minute or two later, he says, "I'm gonna go home and crash out,"  from the kitchen doorway. "I'll see you for breakfast at..."

"Six," I tell him, smiling in what I hope is encouragement.

He smiles back, and oh my god, I'm in love. "Right. I'll be here tomorrow at six." He turns to leave, then stops and turns back. "Jack? I took the security chain off my door."

"You-"

"-didn't have to. I did it anyway.  Sleep well, Jack," he says gently, almost wistfully. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Sleep well, Robert." I'm probably looking wistful myself. "Goodnight."


	6. Second date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robert apologizes for shutting Jack out by letting him in.

"You look stoked, bro!" Craig exclaims as we start our jog.

"Thursday is pizza night," I remind him.

He looks wistful. "I miss that. So who'd you get to eat the third slices?"

"Robert."

"Haha, bro, that's great! So, do you own his soul now?"

I grin at him. "I also made cherry pie yesterday."

Craig shakes his head ruefully. "I'd probably sell my soul for your cherry pie. Or maybe one of my children. Do you want to trade Hazel for a pie? Firstborn kids are traditional payment, right?"

That makes me laugh. Or it would, if I had the breath for it. "If you want pie so bad, bro, I'll bake you one."

"You should totally bake mini pies for the next bake sale. You'll wreck the competition."

"We'll see," I tell him. "I make no promises except that it will be delicious."

When we get back to the cul-de-sac we high-five before going into our own houses. A quick shower, fresh clothes, and I get things cooking. Amanda wanders out at six, just in time to let Robert in, and she greets him cheerfully.

"Omelets today," I announce, brandishing a spatula. "Fillings?"

"Bacon and green peppers and cheddar," Amanda declares, pouring herself some juice.

Robert arches his eyebrows. He looks a lot better this morning, clean and sober and I want to kiss him. Fuck.

"What are my choices?" he asks.

I point the spatula at the fridge. "If it's in there, it can go in your omelet."

Amanda's already crumbling cooked bacon onto a small plate next to some pre-chopped green pepper that didn't make it onto the pizza and a handful of shredded cheddar. She hands a plate to Robert, who piles it with torn-up slices of ham from the deli and then a small mountain of cheddar cheese. I've already got my mushroom, bacon, and Swiss omelet on a covered plate for myself.

I make Amanda's omelet first, since she has to go to school, and it's done about when the biscuits are. While she's digging in, Robert nibbles a biscuit with butter but then comes up to lean against the counter next to me while I'm making his omelet.

"What do you take on your biscuits?" he asks quietly.

"Butter and strawberry jam," I answer.

My attention is mostly on his omelet, but I do notice that he's back to leaning on the counter nearby and when I turn to look at him, he offers me a buttered biscuit half with jam. Blushing, I take a bite and mumble my thanks. He looks pleased, though, and keeps feeding me bites of biscuit until his omelet is done.

"Eat before it gets cold," I say firmly, and he holds out the last bite for me before taking his plate to the table.

He smiles as I join him, making me go weak in the knees, but I manage to sit without incident and we all enjoy a hearty breakfast before Amanda leaves for school with the ritual hugs and exchanges of 'I love you'.

"This was a lot better than frozen waffles," Robert says with a hint of a grin.

I grin back. "Well, I should _hope_ so! ...you're always welcome to join us for breakfast," I add quietly. "Even if you feel guilty. Even if you feel like you don't deserve it."

Robert toys with his fork for a few seconds. "Why didn't you keep texting me? Demanding to know where I was, things like that?"

I look down at my empty plate. "You didn't text back. I thought you didn't want to talk to me. And if that was the case, it would have been rude of me to bother you."

"I don't think it's possible for you to be rude," he says in a firm but low voice. "If I don't respond in an hour, text me again and ask if I'm okay. Remind me that you give a shit. Don't let me shut you out."

"Okay." I look up, see him looking sadly at me, and smile. "And if you don't respond after a second hour?"

The sadness melts into something more like apology. "Ask me where I am. I'll probably be either at home or Jim and Kim's. Take whatever actions you think are appropriate."

Greatly daring, I lean over and hug Robert. After a moment, he hugs back. I let go. "Okay," I say softly, smiling.

Hesitantly, Robert smiles back. I'm so in love, and I've only known him for a week. Help.

"So...got any plans for the day?" I ask awkwardly. "I'm just...gonna see what scholarship applications I can round up for Amanda."

"I've got some...cleaning...to do," he replies. "Thanks for breakfast. I'll...see you later." Somehow, he manages to make that sound like both a promise and an invitation.

"Okay." Come on, Jack, is that the only word you know? "Happy cleaning?"

Chuckling, Robert stands up. "Something like that."

With a last smile in my direction, he leaves the kitchen and lets himself out.

I'm _such_ a sap.

 

* * *

 

Amanda and I spend the evening sorting out scholarship application and filling them out. Despite it being Friday night, we both get ready for bed at a reasonable hour. Me because I still intend to jog with Craig in the morning, and her because if she goes to bed early, she can sleep for ten hours _and_ still hang out with her friends most of the day.

Sweet slumber takes me gently in its metaphoric arms and carries me off. Then a loud buzzing rudely interrupts us, and I find myself awake staring at 11:05 on my phone as it vibrates in my hand again. I'm being texted.

HEY

JACK

HEY

HEY JACK

HEY IM OUTSIDE

COME OUTSIDE

Why is Robert outside? Why does he want me to go outside?

DONT MAKE ME HONK

I WILL HONK

GET OUT HERE

I'm not really awake enough for a full word, but I text back the letter K and get a :) in return. Grumbling internally, I shuffle outside to where Robert's leaning against his pickup truck, which is in my driveway.

"Hey," he says cheerfully and, dare I say, unrepentantly considering the lovely sleep he is depriving me of.

"...hey?" I echo, still not fully with it.

"Wanna hang?" he asks, somehow looking like a dog begging to go for a walk.

I was kind of...sleeping. But when I open my mouth to say that, all that comes out is a pouty-sounding "Now?"

He doesn't seem offended, though. "Come hang out," he urges, almost wheedling, and it's...very hard to say no to my crush when he sounds like that and all I want to do is curl up in his arms.

"...sure."

The happy, relieved expression that gets makes me feel like maybe I don't need sleep after all. Then Robert points at my legs. "You plan on going out like that?"

Right. I'm in pajamas.

"I mean, I don't mind," he teases.

Blushing furiously, I retreat inside to change and leave Amanda a note. Shoes, wallet, keys, jacket, lock the door and I'm back by Robert's truck. He grins at me.

"Ready?"

"Ready."

Robert pulls open the passenger door and gestures me inside. "Hop in."

I don't hop. I climb. I haven't been in a pickup truck in...since before Amanda was born. It has the look of a vehicle that hadn't been cleaned for years and then suddenly had its protective layer of litter rudely removed, followed by an abrupt application of soap and water. Was this the cleaning Robert said he had to do? I buckle in as he comes around to the driver's side and climbs in. He buckles as well, starts the truck, and drives out of the cul-de-sac.

Robert fiddles with the radio for a minute, finding music he likes, then cracks his window open and lights a clove cigarette. We drive in comfortable, clove-scented silence and I think I fall asleep once or twice before I recognize the feel of the highway. I glance at Robert, who's completely intent on driving, and shift a little in the seat to get more comfortable. May as well catch as many winks as I can before we get to wherever we're going.

The truck coming to a stop wakes me. Robert puts it in park and climbs out. I blink sleepily and then jump when he opens the passenger door.

"What are you waiting for?" he teases.

I climb out and follow him to the bed of the truck, where he hops up and pats the space beside him. I hop up as well, resisting the urge to just cuddle up to him and rest my head on his shoulder. He's parked the truck on a hill overlooking the city skyline against the bay. The cool night breeze rustles in some trees near us, and off to the side a path leads into a dense forest. City lights blink in the distance. This is a gorgeous spot.

"This is where I come to masturbate," Robert says softly.

My face is bright red, I'm sure, but what comes out of my mouth is, "Every time, or just special occasions?"

Robert laughs. It's such a nice laugh, light and carefree. It's like I'm getting a glimpse into who Robert used to be before his wife died.

"This is my little spot where I come to think," he says in that same soft voice. "You can see the whole city from up here. Really gives you some perspective."

"It's a good spot," I agree.

Robert shifts, reaching for something under his jacket, and pulls out a knife. Suddenly, I remember my initial impressions of him and start laughing.

"What's so funny?" he asks sharply, a smallish piece of wood in his other hand.

I shake my head while the giggles wind down. "When I met you in the bar, I thought you looked like you'd stab me if I moved too fast. And here you actually have a knife."

He chuckles. "Did you think I was gonna stab you just now?"

"And get my blood all over the bed of your truck? Not likely." I grin at him. "You're too smart for that. If you were going to kill me, you'd walk me at knifepoint into the woods and make it look like a wild animal."

"Well I hate to break it to you, but I did in fact bring you out here to harvest your organs." He tries to keep it deadpan, but there's a little smirk playing about the corners of his mouth.

I shrug off my jacket and reach for the hem of my shirt, like I'm about to pull it over my head. "Okay, but make it quick so they don't suffer any trauma before you harvest them."

Robert laughs again, and I think I can see a hint of a blush on his cheeks. "Ha! Nothing gets past you. Okay, put your jacket back on."

"You sure?" I lift my shirt up to my ribs. "These are prime organs. I'm very healthy and I eat right."

He laughs harder and transfers the knife to the hand holding the wood so he can cover his eyes. "Jack..."

"Fine, fine..." I lower my shirt and shrug back into my jacket. "But when that nun in Argentina needs a new colon, don't come crying to me. You had your chance."

For a minute he just slumps against the side of the truck bed, laughing while I grin like a loon.

"Okay, you earned this," he chuckles, reaching into the pocket of his leather jacket to hand me a folding knife. "So you can protect yourself when the Argentinian nuns come for your colon. Do you know how to use it?"

"I-"

"I'm gonna warn you," he continues, "the last guy I had a knife fight with lost three fingers because he didn't know the eight basic rules of knife fighting. You're familiar, right?"

"Did you forget who you're dealing with?" I unfold the knife and hold it vaguely threateningly. "I learned from my wife. The last guy who came for my organs limped away missing three fingers, both his big toes, five lymph nodes, and an ear."

"Right, or left?" Robert asks.

"Right."

He whistles. "Nicely done."

"Thank you," I say modestly.

There's a beat of silence, and then we both break into raucous laughter.

"Have you ever whittled before?" he asks when we've calmed down.

"I'm a country boy. I've used knives on wood, but never trying to make a figurine."

He hops down and fetches a thickish stick from the ground and hands it to me.

"The most important thing to remember while whittling is to cut with the grain, not against it."

I nod. "If you cut against the grain, the wood splinters. But isn't the most important thing safety?"

"No," he says, hopping back up and sitting next to me again. "Getting hurt comes with the territory. Look at my damn hands."

He holds them out, and I look. Of course, it's dark, so I have to hold them and get real close and stuff. They're calloused and covered in little white scars. They're very nice hands, and I want to rub my cheeks against them, like a cat.

"You can't whittle an omelet without breaking a few hand eggs," he says, the words just slightly uneven.

I let go of his hands, hoping he can't see my blush. We sit in silence for a while, carving our pieces of wood. I'm aiming for something vaguely duck-shaped while Robert is carving...a smaller wooden knife? My knife skips on a knot and bites into the meat of my thumb. I'm bleeding. It's dripping. I hold my injured hand over the ground, away from my pants, and close the knife blade.

"Robert?"

He doesn't look up. "Mm?"

I slip the knife into my pocket and gingerly transfer my proto-duck to my other hand. "I'm bleeding."

Robert looks over, sees me holding my hand away from anything it could drip on because it's _still dripping_ and abandons his whittling to pull a red bandana out of his jacket and tie it around my hand. As soon as his fingers are out of the way mine are right there, applying pressure.

"Good. Hold tight."

He goes further into the bed and rummages for what turns out to be a first-aid kit. Carefully, he takes the bandana off. The bleeding, thankfully, has stopped. He smears some antiseptic on the cut, wads a piece of gauze up, and wraps medical tape around my thumb to hold the gauze in place.

"You okay?" he asks quietly, still bent over my hand.

"Yeah, I'm good. Not the first time I've stuck myself. This is nothing, not compared to the time I had to give myself stitches." I can see him grin. "Scar's on my knee, or I'd show you. When my dad finally took me to the doctor, the doc was impressed that it wasn't infected but frustrated that I hadn't been brought in the same day rather than almost a week later. Stitches were almost ready to come out."

Robert stares at me. "You're...not joking."

"Not this time, sorry." I give him an apologetic smile.

He runs his fingers over the medical tape as though smoothing it down. "Well then, I don't have to tell you to keep that cut clean."

"Am I a real whittler now?" I ask dryly.

"That you are," he says, grinning. "Be careful, though. They're attracted to the scent of blood."

That's...confusing. "Sticks?"

"Cryptids," he answers, his voice thick with satisfaction. "Tons of 'em out here, you know. This town's a hotbed for cryptozoological occurrences."

I put the back of my uninjured hand to my forehead. "You were going to force me into the woods at knifepoint and leave my body for cryptids to eat?"

"Of course not." He sounds slightly offended. "I was going to use you as bait. But now that I know you know your way around a knife, I think we could take the Dover Ghost together."

Robert sounds serious. I can't tell if he's joking or not. "Wait...what's the Dover Ghost?"

"Let me tell you a story," he says, his voice dark and almost angry.

A little worried, I nod and he tells me about going camping with a huge pitbull named Betsy and how, on the second night, the woods were completely silent and he heard an unholy guttural growl and saw a misshapen humanoid figure with black eyes that stared at him, vanished, and then vanished the dog. The story ends with how he didn't sleep that night and hasn't slept right since.

"Just one question," I say when he finishes. "What size batteries were in your flashlight?"

He blinks. "Flashlight?"

"The one you used to see that the Dover Ghost's eyes were black."

"You think I'm making this up," he says. "Well, guess what." He pulls out his wallet and hands me a picture of a huge pitbull. "Tell that to Betsy."

He has a picture of a pitbull. But there were no dog accessories in his house. I think.

"They say that if you listen closely on quiet nights," he says as he tucks picture and wallet back away, "nights just like tonight, you can hear the howl of the Dover Ghost."

As I'm opening my mouth to call bullshit, a guttural howl rips through the night. I've heard a lot of wild animals growing up, and I'm sure this is just some animal we didn't have back home, but fuck if my hindbrain isn't convinced it's a goddamn monster. Robert and I stare at each other, and he's just as terrified as I am. Without a word we scramble from the bed of the truck around into the cab and lock the doors. For whatever good that will do us.

"I thought you were yanking my chain," I hiss at him, peering through the window towards the path into the woods.

He starts the truck. "I was, right up until that howl!"

I can see something coming out of the wood, walking slowly and unevenly along the path. It looks human...kind of...but like it's dragging something. Blindly, I flail at Robert's arm.

"The fuck is that?" he demands.

Good. He's seeing it, too.

"Go, go, go!"

Highbeams on, Robert guns it and we drive off like a bat out of hell, booking it down the dirt road towards the highway. He wastes no time accelerating to about ten over the speed limit, and it's a few minutes of staring straight ahead before either of us breaks the silence.

"The fuck was that?" Robert demands again.

Like I have any idea. "The Dover Ghost? Or maybe...someone illegally dumping garbage?"

"Yeah. Let's go with that."

Neither of us says anything until we're closer to town.

"Thanks for coming out," Robert says quietly. "This was fun."

"Thank you for waking me up to come out," I reply, smiling. "And thank you for showing me your thinking spot."

"Too bad I have to find a new one now," he says jokingly.

"Hey, what happened to us taking the Dover Ghost together?"

Robert chuckles. "We both ran, that's what happened." He fumbles one-handed with things in his jacket and lights another clove cigarette. "Been doing a lot of thinking," he says quietly. "Lately, I feel like I've been...drowning in a sea of regret."

My heart jumps into my throat. "Regret for what?"

"My life choices. Chasing after things that I thought would make me happy and only focusing on myself."

"That's a lonely way to live," I say quietly.

He snorts. "Yeah. I figured that out. But the more you get hurt, the harder it is to let someone else in, you know?"

I think about my father. My sister. My _mother_. I think about Ana, and Amanda going to college a thousand miles away. "I guess it depends on the hurt," I say slowly. "Me...I need people. It's probably not healthy, but when I get hurt it's because someone's...no longer in my life. And I look for someone else to bring _into_ my life to fill the void. Someone else to care about so I don't eat myself alive missing the person who's gone. That's how I wound up married to Ana," I add dryly. "My father was no longer in my life, and even though he...wasn't the best person in the world...I was feeling adrift on a sea of despair. Ana was about six, seven months pregnant and she'd missed her bus so she was stuck in town. She needed someone, I needed someone, so we got married and as soon as she was recovered from giving birth, we moved out here. Never regretted it."

The silence relaxes into something more comfortable.

"Do you ever wish you were a better father?" he asks.

I chuckle. "My dad was kind of a what-not-to-do example. Before my daughter was born, I spent a month reading every parenting book I could find but in the end, I realized there is no 'best' way to parent because every child is different. If you get caught up in what you think you should or shouldn't do, you'll lose sight of what your child actually _needs_. So I just focused on her, and what she needed, and I figure as long as she turns out okay, then I did okay."

Robert thinks about that for a minute. "If we're judging parents by their kids, then I think you're the best one on the block, hands down. Compared to me, your relationship with Amanda seems...perfect."

"Thanks," I say, grateful he's not turning to see me blush. "But it's not. Nothing's ever perfect except molecularly or geometrically."

"At least you're there for her," he says bitterly.

The emptiness looms before me.

"I'm there for her, but what do I do once she's off at college?"

Robert sits up straight and glances at me, the borderline-hostile look I haven't seen in a few days. "I'll be there for you," he says, and there's something in his voice that I can't describe.

It's like listening to Freddie Mercury pouring his heart into the lyrics of a song - 'Somebody to love' maybe, or 'You're my best friend' or...no...'Save me'. That's the song I'm thinking of.

_Save me, save me, save me. I can't face this life alone._

I'm not sure whether I'm associating the lyrics with Robert, or myself.

"We'll figure it out together," Robert continues.

I feel like I'm going to cry because it's just sunk in how very badly I need him, and the thought that he might understand that...that he might need me, too...

"Thank you," I whisper, hoping he can hear how much I'm not saying. "That means a lot to me."

Briefly, he takes my hand and squeezes before putting it back on the wheel. We drive the rest of the way in comfortable silence, listening to the radio and watching the lights of Maple Bay get closer. Finally, he pulls into my driveway and I reluctantly unbuckle my seat belt.

"I still have your knife," I start to say, but he waves one hand at me.

"Keep it. Never know when you might need it." He gives me a little smirk. "And you're still on my team for hunting cryptids."

I smile at him, and he smiles back. "Thanks. Goodnight, Robert. Drive safe. See you for breakfast tomorrow?"

"Six?" he asks with a little wince.

The clock on the dashboard says squiggle-45. I check my phone and discover it's close to one in the morning. "Maybe seven. I should text Craig, let him know I'm not going to be in any shape to jog with him in the next six hours."

Robert laughs. "Sleep well, Jack."

"You too," I tell him, wishing he were coming inside with me, and close the door to the truck.

He backs out of my driveway and almost immediately pulls into his own. He waves at me as he gets out, I wave back, and we both enter our respective houses.

The note I left on the whiteboard for Amanda read OUT WITH ROBERT, NO ICE CREAM, LOVE YOU in blue dry-erase marker. Beneath it in green, she's added, GO DAD, AW DRAT, LOVE YOU TOO. I grab the blue marker and scrawl WENT CRYPTID HUNTING. BREAKFAST AT 7. NO ICE CREAM. Then I change back into my pajamas and seek out the metaphoric arms of slumber again, wishing they were Robert's arms.


	7. Piece of cake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's shaping up to be a busy weekend. And what would a busy weekend be without a crisis or two?

My phone vibrates, buzzing and rattling against the bedside table.

JACK

HEY

JACK

I BROUGHT DONUTS

It's quarter past seven. I still don't feel like I slept enough, or maybe I slept too much? Groggily, I shuffle out to the living room where Robert hands me a cardboard cup of coffee and a French Cruller.

"Thanks," I mutter, biting into the donut so I have a hand free to open the door and let Robert in.

Wait.

I look back and Amanda grins at me from the recliner, a chocolate-frosted-with-sprinkles in each hand. Robert's smiling fondly at me from the middle of the room. I'd be super embarrassed if I were awake enough to register shame. Instead, I just sit on the couch and enjoy my coffee and Robert sitting next to me. After the French Cruller meets its fate, I snag a strawberry-frosted from the box on his lap and try not to lean against him.

"I texted Craig for you," Robert says, putting the box on the table and plucking a chocolate glazed for himself. "Told him I was holding you hostage in Bolivia and if he wanted to see you again, to wire twenty thousand gherkins to my Swiss bank account."

Amanda frowns. "Wait...aren't gherkins little pickles?"

"They're not only little pickles," Robert asserts, "but they're the _best_ pickles. Regretfully, Craig just responded with 'okay, bro' and didn't wire me any pickles at all."

"How..." I break off, trying to bludgeon my brain into working.

"Yeah, how would he wire pickles to you?" Amanda asks.

"That's beside the point. The _point_ is that I'm _never_ going to get my twenty thousand gherkins."

Abruptly, I stand up and head for the pantry. I'm pretty sure I have....yes! A jar of sweet gherkins. Serving size...about three...servings per container 9...about 27 gherkins per 16-ounce jar, that's...

...that's...

Would a wholesale club have giant jars of pickles?

"Dad?"

I wander back into the living room, coffee in one hand and pickles in the other. "I need your math brain, sweetie. What's twenty thousand divided by twenty-seven?"

Amanda gives me an _are you kidding?_ look and pulls out her phone. "Seven hundred forty. Repeating."

That's a lot of pickles. I hand the jar to Robert. "I'm not buying you seven hundred jars of pickles."

Robert puts down his coffee and turns the jar of pickles over in his hands as though he can't believe what he's holding. Then he laughs, head flung back, slumped against the couch like the world's gone mad.

"You're really something, Jack," he chuckles, shaking his head as I sit back down next to him.

"Thank you?"

"This is what happens if you throw off his sleep schedule," Amanda says. "He'll be useless for another twenty minutes."

"Really?" Robert looks critically at me. "I'll keep that in mind. What havoc are you wreaking on the town today?"

"Gonna chill at the mall with my friends," she says, licking chocolate off her fingers, "Speaking of, I'm gonna head out." She gives us each a hug. "Behave, you two. Make good choices. Love you, Dad."

"Love you too, Panda," I answer reflexively.

Robert and I chill on the couch, sipping coffee in comfortable silence, until it occurs to me that I was so out of it I did the cartoon thing where the character doesn't realize the other character is there for a few seconds, and I _gave him a jar of pickles_. For no reason other than that I discovered he likes them. I cover my face with one hand and groan.

"Huh. Twenty minutes. She was right."

"I'd say something witty," I tell him, "but I'm too busy trying to die of embarrassment."

"No dying," he tells me sharply. "You'll rat me out to the Dover Ghost."

I let my hands drop. "You're right," I declare in my best determined voice. "We're a team. I won't let you down."

Robert grins. "Speaking of teams, Craig mentioned his girls are playing a game this afternoon. And if I were you, I'd make plans for tomorrow or Joseph's likely to try to try talking you into helping him chaperone a Youth Minister thing."

"Thanks for the warning," I tell him. "Also, thanks for breakfast."

He looks pleased but also a little uncomfortable and he looks away. "I thought it was only fair after I dragged you out of bed."

"If I make you a spare key," I start, grinning, "are you going to use it to sneak in and harvest my organs in the middle of the night?"

Valiantly, he tries to hide how amused he is, but the chuckles slip out anyway. "Of course not. I like my lymph nodes where they are."

"Then that's one errand I know I'll be running today. How about you? Got any plans?"

He looks away again. "Laundry."

Do not ask if he wants company. Do _not_. You did that last time and hit some kind of nerve.

"I should text Craig, see if he wants me to do breakfast at his place tomorrow morning," I say instead. "Give him a morning where he can breathe. If he does, do you want me to come over and do breakfast with you first?"

"Nah. I'll just have frozen waffles and artificial syrup." He gives me a brief, almost...hopeful?...smile. "If I have to fend for myself once in a while, it'll encourage me to take advantage of your hospitality."

I smile back, trying to make it reassuring. "Okay. I better get started making plans, then."

"Yeah." Robert looks away. "If you don't have anything else to do, I'll be at Jim and Kim's with Mary tomorrow night starting around nine."

"Maybe I'll come keep you company, then."

"That'd be good." He points to the box of donuts. There's still several left. "You want any more of these before I take them?"

I grab a blueberry cake donut as he stands up and take a huge bite. "Fnk yw," I mumble.

Robert laughs. "You're welcome. See you later, Jack. Take care."

Hastily, I swallow. "See you later. Be safe."

Then he's gone, and I'm flopping over to lay on the couch and eat my donut and think about what a lovestruck fool I am. That holds me for about five minutes, and then I head into my bedroom for my phone. I also realize I haven't checked Dadbook for a few days, what with being worried about Robert and all, so I fire up the desktop.

Brian suggests some late-morning mini-golf on...Sunday. Whew. I shoot him a message that I'll check with Amanda, send her a text, get an affirmative, and confirm that we'll be there. Hugo apologized for not getting back to me sooner but trivia night is Wednesdays. Damien formally enquires as to whether or not I am free on the Lord's Day for a picnic, time negotiable. I schedule that for early afternoon to give us time for mini-golf. Craig texts me the time and location of the softball game and confirms that my biscuits would be very welcome tomorrow for breakfast. And then Joseph notices that I'm online and messages me asking me to help chaperone his Youth Mixer tomorrow evening.

Wincing, I ask what time it is. Early evening. Right when I don't have anything. I tell him I can be there for a few hours, but then I have other commitments.

What am I getting myself into?

Well, what's done is done. I strip off my PJs and take a shower, mentally organizing my errands as I do.

 

* * *

 

As I'm getting ready to head out, scrawling a whiteboard note for Amanda, the front door opens and she books it to her room so fast the door to her room closes before the front door does. In the wake of those sounds, I can hear her crying. Alarmed, I knock gently on her door.

"Manda?"

The crying stops. "Not right now," she calls tightly. Her voice is definitely strained and I can hear her sniffle.

I test the doorknob, but she hasn't locked it. Then I throttle back my protective father nature and take my hand off the knob. "Is everything okay?" I ask, knowing the answer is no but not wanting to pressure her.

"I don't wanna talk about it!"

Well, that's a no, but it's not a 'go away'. "Do you want company?"

"No! Go away!"

Okay, now we've got a 'go away'. "Okay," I call reassuringly through the door. "I'm heading out for some errands. Don't eat all my strawberry cheesecake ice cream while I'm gone." Meaning she can have _some_ of it, and help herself to the rest of the cookie dough ice cream, which I know she'll understand because I didn't say 'no ice cream'. "Love you, Panda."

It's a few whimpery seconds before she calls back, "Love you too, Dad."

The hardware store is my first errand, getting a copy of the house key made. They have an assortment of key covers, ranging from cartoon characters to one that makes the key look like the blade of a tiny chainsaw, but in the end I just get a set of pre-labeled ones in plain colors. The one labeled 'Mom' is a dark blue and I slip it onto the copy of my house key, then wrestle it onto a key ring. I've been called Mr. Mom enough, I can roll with it. The red one says 'Locker', but there really isn't an option for 'the house of the guy you kinda wish was your boyfriend' or even just 'friend' or 'significant other', so I go with red for the shirt Robert was wearing when I met him. Or love. Whichever.

At the grocery store, I pick up strawberries, ladyfingers, and cool whip. Then I browse the baking aisle for red decorating gel. I also stare at the ice cream until I find something that includes "Xtreme" in its name and features an explosion of what seems to be three kinds of chocolate plus caramel. The rest of the shopping goes quick. Amanda's still in her room when I get home, but what makes me worried is the ice cream hasn't been touched. Right, this is why I have plans B and C.

Slicing strawberries would normally be time-consuming, but I've been doing it for most of my life. In a relatively short time I've assembled a "cake" of ladyfingers with layers of strawberries and cool whip. On top, I write "Sorry you're sad but I support you 100%" because I have no idea what's got her so upset. I add a few hearts around the edges and put it in the fridge. It's just about time to head out for Craig's game, so I get my stuff together and knock on Amanda's door again.

"Pumpkin?"

"What!"

I wince slightly. "I'm going out to watch Craig coach a softball game. He said his twins are going to a sleepover after, so we'll probably hang out and catch up. I got you more ice cream - Xtreme Chocolate Explosion or something - but don't just have ice cream for dinner, okay?' I give it a beat and add, "There's icebox shortcake in the fridge, too. Anyway, heading out. Love you, Panda."

There's two breaths of silence before she replies, "Love you too, Dad," in a small voice.

Just to make sure she doesn't forget, I scrawl a note on the whiteboard reminding her that I'm with Craig and there's ice cream AND cake that she can have for dinner. Then I lock the door behind me and head out.

Craig's team is apparently the Maple Bay Flapjacks, and they're playing against the Pinewood Oce-littles. It takes me a moment and seeing their logo to get it. Ocelot, ocelittle, and they're a kid's team. Cute. Craig's all over the coaching thing; it's like he's Team Dad. One of the kids gets smacked in the forehead with the ball about two-thirds of the way through the game, and he's _right there_ hugging and soothing her. I'm thoroughly impressed, and I kind of feel like I'm watching the Ugly Duckling who's grown up into the swan coaching a bunch of ducklings. Or...something.

Whatever the metaphor, he coaches them to victory and all the girls are super thrilled. I go down to the dugout to congratulate him and see what we're doing, just in time to see him get verbally swept into going out for pizza with the rest of the team and about half a dozen moms. He sweeps me with him, though, and I find myself riding shotgun in his SUV with River's car seat separating the twins in the back.

"Good game," I tell him as we drive off. "You sure seem...poplar...with the moms, though."

He flashes me the wide-eyed look of a cornered animal. "It's just like that Kappa Phi Omega house party," he says, referring to a time when he spent the entire night trying to escape, only to have girl after girl waylay him trying to get into his pants. I finally had to do a very over-the-top impression of being his very gay boyfriend to ward them off and get him out.

"Got your six, bro," I assure him.

Sure enough, when we get to the pizza place, one of the moms is poised to pounce - but seeing me makes her pause.

"Craig," she purrs instead, oozing closer, "who's your friend?"

"Jack," I introduce myself, getting the wrist-flip in as I hold my hand out to shake. "I was _best friends_ with Craig back in college. We even _lived_ together, can you believe that? Ha," I add, the routine coming back like riding a bicycle. "And I _must_ say, hasn't he cleaned up _nicely?_ All these _muscles..._ " I slide my arms around him from behind, feeling his chest and abdomen. "Mm. Definitely didn't have _these_ when I last saw you. I'm _so_ looking forward to... _catching up_ tonight."

Craig smiles at the woman. "Yeah, we've got a... _busy night_ planned. You're good to take Briar and Hazel for the sleepover, right?"

"Of course," she says, looking a bit uncertain. "But I could always use some help watching over everyone, if you're not doing anything..."

I let out a brief, fake laugh, playing up the other possible meaning for 'doing'. "I have to say, it was such a _surprise_ to see Craig with kids. Considering how much time he spent in college playing for the home team. If you get my meaning."

With the way I'm draped all over him, it's hard _not_ to get my meaning. I look like I'm about to start giving Craig my _meaning_ right there in front of all the girls.

"Yup, busy night," Craig says cheerfully. "Looks like you've got things under control here, so I'm just gonna head out with my... _friend_...here. I'll pick the girls up at seven. Night!"

And while she's still gaping, we make our escape back to the parking lot. We get all the way back to his SUV before we can't hold the laughter in anymore.

"That was _perfect,_ " he howls, high-fiving me before putting River back in her car seat. "You're a lifesaver, bro!"

I slide into the front seat. "Any time, bro. Any time. As long as you don't mind getting a rep for catching instead of pitching."

He slides into the driver's seat and starts the car. "If it keeps them off my back, I'll go to second base in front of them."

"Not looking for another relationship anytime soon, then?" I ask sympathetically.

"I don't have the _time,_ " he sighs. "I've got primary custody of three kids, there's the company to run - thankfully most of that can be done from a laptop - and then there's trying to keep healthy on top of that. Half the time, I feel like a hamster on a wheel running out my stress and the other half of the time, working out feels like the only way I can get some time to _myself_. My life is exhausting, bro. The _last_ thing I need is another responsibility to juggle. I don't know how you did it."

"I didn't have a pair of twins and an infant," I point out. " _Or_ a company. And Ana was taking care of Fareeha while I was taking classes. You need to find a way to delegate or cut back somewhere, or you're going to burn yourself out. _Trust_ me on that. I've _been_ there."

He shoots me a confused frown. "But you just said-"

" _Before_ I met Ana."

"Forgot about that," he mutters. "My bad, bro. Hey, you still set with those trust funds, or can I tempt you into a part-time job doing busywork for peanuts?"

"You had me at busywork," I tell him, grinning. "I'm going to be going stir crazy when my girl goes off to college. Did I tell you she got into her dream school?"

"Bro! No way!" He shoots me a grin. "That's _awesome!"_

We pull into a diner that looks like it's the right balance of quality and greasy and pile into a booth with River's car seat on the bench next to Craig. The waitress comes up and hands us menus.

"Is this your kid?" she asks with a speculative gleam in her eye, gesturing to River.

Craig looks like a deer caught in the headlights. I give her a dazzling smile.

"Sure is!" I gush. "Isn't she beautiful? Adoption went through just last week. We're _so thrilled_ to have a little princess of our own to raise!"

The speculation turns to disappointment, but the waitress smiles back anyway. "She's so cute! Hi, you!"

River gurgles and smiles.

"Aw. You're gonna have to beat the boys off with a stick in middle school, but if you can make it through that then you can make it through anything. Congrats, you two! Anyway, my name's Amy and I'll be your server tonight. I'll let you look over the menus for a few minutes, but can I start you off with something to drink?"

"Just water for me," Craig says.

"For both of us," I add.

Amy smiles and goes to fetch us water.

"I owe you again," Craig says in a low voice. "I can never shift gears fast enough to pull that off myself; I always lock up and then it's too late."

"Always glad to help, bro."

Once we've made our choices, we talk about Amanda going to college and then what Briar and Hazel are into. We place our orders and chat some more, mostly about the import-export company and what aspects of running it Craig can delegate to me. Then our food arrives and we dig in, reminiscing about college. When we're done eating, Craig drives us back to the field where we just hang out in the cool dusk air and catch up on everything _after_ college. Eventually, River gets fussy and we break it up so Craig can put her to bed, so we say goodnight until tomorrow's breakfast and take our separate cars home.

 

* * *

 

I can tell immediately that Amanda's out of her room - the whiteboard just has a big heart on it and when I check the kitchen, she jumps up and hugs me. For a long minute I just hug back, thankful that I have a daughter who knows I care and lets me help. Then she pulls the icebox shortcake out of the fridge and grabs a pair of soup spoons.

"It's dumb," she warns me, handing a spoon.

We both sit down. "It's not dumb if it's hurting you," I tell her. "I care about you, kiddo, and I get scared when I know something's wrong and even more scared when I feel like I can't do anything about it."

"I know," she says in a small voice. "Thank you for worrying about me." She takes a deep breath. "You're _sure_ you want to hear? It's stupid high school drama."

"It upset you, Panda. I want to know _every detail_ so I can be properly enraged on your behalf and help you work it out."

"Okay." She digs her spoon into one corner of the pan; I dig into the opposite corner. "So...you know how Emma R.'s going to that fancy art school in California, right?"

I nod, and Amanda starts to explain what's been eating at her. It's convoluted, as high school drama tends to be, but the crux of it is that the boy she has a crush on has secretly been dating her best friend for months and she found out when her friends all supposedly bailed on hanging out at the mall with her, but went there anyway and she saw Emma R. and Noah kissing. The confrontation was every bit as messy as could be expected, there was a flurry of angry texts back and forth, and now she's on the outs with the people she thought were her best friends.

Thankfully, she's pretty stable despite everything because of the 'people are like scared dogs' talk we had, but she's still pretty hurt - and rightfully so - that her best friend lied to her for so long. I break it to her gently that sometimes, people you care about don't care as much about you and there's nothing wrong with remembering the good times and letting them go. I even talk about my father a little, and how I grew to emotionally separate myself from him and how much healthier it is to let go of the toxic people and invest your emotional energy into the people who care enough to not want to hurt you. I point out that in just a few weeks they'll be graduating, and in the fall she's going to be going to her dream school where she'll meet new people, make new friends, and find new things to break.

"Ultimately," I tell her loftily, "I think this says _way_ more about their character than it does about yours, because you're _amazing_ and if they can't see that, well...that's their problem."

"I'll keep that in mind," she says, giving me a small grin. "And hey, isn't that basically what I told you about Robert?"

"It is, and he apologized. He promised he wouldn't do it again and then he took me cryptid hunting to make it up to me."

Amanda grins wider. "Good. I like him. Is he coming over for breakfast tomorrow?"

"Nope." I grin back at her. "We're doing breakfast with Craig and his girls again, and I think this is going to be a regular thing."

She thrusts both arms into the air. "Woo-hoo! River's cute," she says by way of explanation. "So breakfast with them, and then mini-golf, and then...?"

"Damien invited me to a picnic, so that's what I'm doing for lunch, and then I agreed to help Joseph chaperone a youth mixer in the evening, so I'll probably graze there for dinner. You're welcome to come along."

"Free food? I'm there."

"I'm only going to be there a few hours," I warn her. "I'm meeting Robert and Mary at the bar at nine, and I expect you to be in bed by ten-thirty."

She salutes me with her spoon. "Roger that, Daddy-o." Then she looks down at the pan.

It's empty.

"Did we...just..."

"Eat the entire thing?" I finish. "Yeah, we did. I think I'm gonna go foodcoma for a bit."

Amanda laughs. "Sounds like a plan. And Dad? Thanks for caring."

We get up and hug again, gently this time. "Anytime, sweetie. I love you."

"I love you too, Dad," she whispers into my chest.


	8. Can't touch this

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joseph learns that if you've got it, flaunt it, and if you liked it, then you should have put a ring on it.
> 
> Robert learns that it's safe to hope.
> 
> And unbeknownst to Jack, Mary learns that Robert actually hasn't had sex with him - and thus, her friend-slash-neighbor is interested in him as more than a booty call.

Sure enough, when I float the idea to Craig of Sunday breakfast being a regular thing, he jumps on it. Briar and Hazel are envious of Amanda going mini-golfing with Daisy, and when I promise that I'll raise the idea with Brian, excited about the prospect of a multi-family excursion sometime in the future. They call me Uncle Jack when we get ready to head out, which is both endearing and weird.

Brian's already rented clubs for us when we get to the mini-golf course, so I announce that win or lose, refreshments at the end are on me. It's a fun, pirate-themed course and Amanda's loving the opportunity to both talk like a pirate and teach Daisy another aspect of having fun. Surprisingly, Brian's nice to talk to once I get used to him. He's not really _that_ competitive, he just...really enjoys things and he comes across as challenging when he's just being enthusiastic.

Turns out he's so proud of his house and lawn because he's a general contractor who helped design and build the cul-de-sac. He also helped Damien with his Victorian renovation and planted all the greenery the houses started with, including my cherry tree, which explains the know-it-all attitude there. There's some absent worry about Robert's lawn. Apparently he hasn't really tended it since his wife died, and over the last few years Brian had made offers to wrestle it back into shape, but Robert turned them down. Brian also expresses worry over Robert himself and some frustration that despite his skill with a grill, Joseph dismisses his offers of cooking at the neighborhood barbecues.

We all come out with roughly equal scores at the end, and stick around to share a giant plate of nachos and some nice lemonade before going our separate ways. Brian and Daisy are open to the idea of a three-family golf outing and, I make sure he has my number in case I forget Dadbook exists for half a week again. Amanda brings up the idea of having our own cookout sometime so Brian can grill, and he looks so excited by that prospect that for a moment, I can only see him as a big, friendly dog who's been told 'no' many times but doesn't understand what he's done wrong. It strengthens my determination to go camping with him and share my campfire cooking skills.

Amanda decides, once we get home, that living well is the best revenge and she's going to chew on filling out scholarship applications and some school assignments that aren't due for a week. I'm staring at the contents of my closet, trying to decide what to wear to a Victorian picnic, when there's a knock at the door. And, when I check who it is, it's Damien with a picnic basket over one arm.

"I hope the day finds you in fine spirits," he says when I open the door. "I thought a brief stroll might whet our appetites. Would you care to accompany me?"

"Of course," I tell him, smiling. "Ah...just a moment." I lean away from the door. "AMANDA! I'M HEADING OUT! LOVE YOU!"

"LOVE YOU TOO!" she shouts from her room.

I lock the front door behind me, and we stroll down the street.

"Is that a normal routine for you and your daughter?" Damien asks after a moment.

"Yeah. It..." I have to swallow and take a deep breath. "I lost my mother to cancer when I was little. I got into the habit of making sure that was the last thing I said in case..."

Damien takes my hand and squeezes gently. I squeeze back.

"And of course, your wife..."

I nod. "It was a horrible moment for Amanda, trying to remember what she'd last said to her mother before remembering the routine she'd always put up with even though she thought it was silly. Suddenly, it wasn't silly anymore."

"Truly a pity that you had to had to experience tragedy to find that connection. But perhaps," he continues, "the pity is that we as a society insulate ourselves so deeply against our feelings that it _takes_ a tragedy to bare our hearts to one another."

Shakily, I laugh. "I can't argue that point. It really brought home to me how precious every day is and how wasteful it is to be angry about petty things."

"The root of your sunny disposition," he says warmly. "To acknowledge death and become comfortable with it, I think, gives us a certain intimate knowledge of ourselves. Death helps us to appreciate life, a philosophy I myself have embraced. I am very glad that you have shared this piece of yourself with me."

I realize that he's taken us to a graveyard, and that he's gesturing inside.

"...because this is where I intended to take you, and I would not wish you to think me unduly morbid."

"I trust your taste," I tell him, and he practically lights up.

"This way," he says eagerly. "I often come here to meditate on thoughts of life and death, and there is a lovely spot..."

Damien leads me up a small hill, where we have a view of most of the cemetery and the nearby parts of the city. The gravestones in this section are old, easily a hundred years, with interesting carvings and statuary. Together, we spread out the blanket and unpack the basket. There's a bottle of red wine, but also one of sparkling red grape juice, and an assortment of fine cheeses, tiny sandwiches, and cakes.

"Picnicking in graveyards is an old Victorian tradition," he says as he pours the grape juice, having taken my practically ignoring the other bottle as a hint that I'm not interested in it.

While we eat and admire the peaceful surroundings, he tells me how the tradition came about and how sitting among the generations who came before, being alive amidst the dead, brings him comfort. I suspect there's some unhappy tragedy in his past, as well, but I don't bring it up. I ask him about movies, and what he thinks of ones set in Victorian times. Turns out that despite his comfort with death, he's not all that into the horror movies people assume he enjoys. We spend close to two hours discussing film and literature quite happily before the food and drink (except for the wine) is gone.

"A question," he says as we're packing everything up again. "You are not obligated to answer, of course, but...I notice you didn't even look at the label on the wine bottle. Are reds not to your taste, or do you not care for wine at all? I wish to be able to provide satisfactory refreshment to my guests. Robert, I know, prefers liquors distilled from grain...."

I give him a self-deprecating smile. "My mom chose my first name, my dad chose my middle name. It's Daniel."

Damien frowns. "Jack Daniel? That bears an...unfortunate resemblance to..."

"Yeah. Dad's favorite drink. I choose not to partake of alcoholic beverages of any kind."

"Understandable, since you have been so...obliquely objectified. Jack, I must compliment you on the strength and nobility with which you carry yourself despite the blows your life has dealt you."

"Me?" I smile at him, ignoring the memories of my sister that flood my mind. "What about you? Look at the strength and nobility _you_ display, not to mention the gentleness and compassion with which you deal with your son."

Damien flushes. "I...try my best." 

I shake my head. "No. You're _nailing_ it, and in a few years, Lucien is going to seriously appreciate what a good father you are."

"Despite my...eccentricities?"

"If you'd swooped in to be my father, cloak and all, I would have wept for joy."

That makes him stop dead. "You...you really mean that?"

"I tried to report my dad to Child Protective Services once. I had the wrong number. And they didn't take me seriously because I was a child."

The silence stretches as we turn into the cul-de-sac.

"I hope you will forgive my saying this," Damien declares stiffly, "but your father sounds like a complete _cad_ and I am sorry you were trapped under his roof for so long."

"Your assessment is accurate. I'm not offended in the slightest." We've stopped by his house; I bow with as much of a flourish as I can manage. "This was a delightful outing. Perhaps next week some time we could have a friendly outing to the cinema. I would, of course, gladly accept your recommendations as to the location of the theater and the show we see, as the experience I have in this part of town was the movie Robert and I snuck into last week, and I have no idea where it is."

Damien laughs, light and free. "That sounds like quite a tale! I would be delighted to share my expertise. Perhaps we could exchange the numbers to our cellular telephones for the sake of convenience?"

We put ourselves in each other's phones.

"I look forward to your correspondence," I tell him.

His cheeks pink slightly. "You are too kind. Good eve, Jack."

He bows with a flourish. I bow again and head over to my house while he goes up his walk. Once I'm inside, I flop into the recliner and check the time. If I'm going to be out chaperoning and then keeping up with Robert and Mary, then a generous nap is _definitely_ in order. I set a timer on my phone and stretch out.

 

* * *

 

A text wakes me up before my alarm. It's Joseph, begging me to come _right now_ because there's an emergency. I'm a little disgruntled, but Amanda is dying to know what qualifies as an emergency, so off we go and when we arrive, it's all both of us can do to not laugh. A giant banner above the stage reads JESUS IS CUMING in unevenly-spaced letters. Joseph jogs up, clearly frazzled.

"I see you've seen...it," he says, not looking at the banner. "Ernest made it." Joseph looks like he's holding his temper with both hands.

I genuinely can't tell if he meant that maliciously, or if he just misspelled 'coming'.

"Jack, I need your help getting this down before anyone sees it."

"Can't argue with that. Amanda?"

She's backing away. "What's that, chaperone? Sorry, I'm just here for the mixer."

A chuckle slips out. "Okay, okay. Where's the ladder Ernest used to put it up?"

"Oh. Over there..."

Between the two of us, we get the ladder set up. I'm starting to wonder how Ernest pulled this off without Joseph noticing.

"I'm really glad you're here, Jack," Joseph says as I start climbing.

A lot of responses flash through my head, but all I say is, "Hold the ladder steady, I'm almost there."

"I didn't just ask you here for your strong arms," Joseph says, holding the ladder. "I also enjoy your company."

Ah, yes. That vaguely predatory sense I got when he first told me he was a youth minister. He reminds me of the guys who would try to roofie a girl's drink in college. And it looks like the plastic banner is stapled and taped up so thoroughly that I'd have to cut it off.

"It's not going to come down," I tell Joseph. "Not quickly or easily." I start climbing back down. "I have an idea. I need some of the plastic that the banner is made of and whatever Ernest used to write on it. Also, tape."

Within minutes, I've got a scrap of plastic large enough to cover the U and I've drawn AL on it, because JESUS IS COMING isn't much cleaner to a teenage mind. We move the ladder and with the banner piece over my shoulder and the tape in my mouth, I climb up again. It's tricky, taping plastic sheet to plastic sheet with nothing solid to press against, but I manage and I'm most of the way back down before the intended audience arrives, along with a couple other chaperones and the DJ. Quickly, we get the ladder out of sight in the hall.

Joseph intercepts the DJ, and I wander over to where Amanda's browsing the food.

"Nice work." She toasts me with half a tuna sandwich she's holding in the hand that doesn't have a plate of cookies.

"Thanks. So what's good?"

"It's free, Pops. It's _all_ good."

I ruffle her hair. "Fine, then what should I start with?"

She takes another bite of tuna. "Not the roast beef, it's dry. Turkey's okay. Tuna's best. There's sweet relish and water chestnuts in it."

"Sold."

I grab a plate and load it up with a couple of sandwich halves, cheese cubes, pepperoni slices, crackers, and little croissant-wrapped franks. There's several 2-liters of soda and a bucket of ice, so I pour myself some crisp ginger ale and stand off to the side, eating while I have the chance. Amanda brings me a plate with a selection of baked goods, mostly storebought.

"The homemade cookies and brownies aren't that good," she tells me. "Stick with this."

"Bless you, child." I beam at her.

After what seems to be an inordinately long conversation, the DJ starts playing fun, bouncy songs - but the teens only mill nervously. Ah, I remember this. No one wants to be the first. I look for Amanda but she's across the room blatantly Not Volunteering. Joseph hurries from group to group, clearly urging them onto the dance floor, but he's not getting any takers. I pop the last croissant-frank into my mouth and dust the crumbs off my hands. When Joseph finally hurries up to me, I'm prepared. Mentally. Physically. Musically.

"You think you can take me?" I demand loudly, making Joseph pull up short. "That's pretty bold of you, preacher-man, but I'll have you know that _no one_ out-dances me!" Yeah, I've got everyone's attention. Good. My lips curve into a smugly superior smile. "You want a dance-off? YOU'VE GOT IT!"

The teens have no idea what's going on except that a challenge has just been thrown down. Joseph follows me as I walk over to the center of the dance floor like I'm strutting down a catwalk. It's just like being in college, doing stupid shit and taking refuge in audacity. No shame. No holds barred. No reputation to lose.

I wish Robert were here to see what I'm about to do. Oh, Amanda's got her phone out ready to record. Never mind, we're good.

Joseph's looking at me uncertainly. I shake my shoulders out, roll my head, and draw on my college flamboyance - 75% confidence and 25% challenge combine into something that sings 'you want it all, but you can't have it/it's in your face but you can't grab it' in a taunting voice.

Every eye is on me.

I unleash a few moves and then point at Joseph. He's clearly startled, but gamely repeats them and then throws out a few from another dance. Easy. I repeat them with more enthusiasm than he displayed, owning the moves before switching to a different dance and giving him a taste of that one. A few cheers break out as I point imperiously at Joseph. _Your turn, preacher-man. Can you keep up with me?_ He's getting into it now, showing some enthusiasm instead of looking ashamed, and I shamelessly dip into 'feminine' moves. Now we're both getting cheers and applause as we finish our demonstrations. The DJ's getting into it now, too, switching songs and waiting to see who can own or improvise the dance better before cutting to another one.

Then he puts on 'All the single ladies' and I know it's all over because Amanda was _obsessed_ with that dance and had the Emmas over three weeks in a row to learn it, and guess who wasn't afraid to help her practice? Yup. I've even got the hips down, something I'm particularly proud of, and Joseph can only watch in flabbergasted awe as I not only _nail_ the dance but acquire half a dozen enthusiastic teenage girls as my backup dancers. I hope Manda's still rec- yup, she is. Best daughter.

By the end of the song, half the teens are dancing and I'm ready to sit down and catch my breath. I make my way back to where I left my desserts and Amanda's there with a refill of ginger ale for me.

"That was _awesome_ ," she informs me. "Plus, I got it all on video."

I down half my glass in one go. "Good," I gasp. "I want a copy of that."

Joseph sidles over, looking remarkably like a dog who's spotted an unguarded sandwich on the table and is moving into position to snatch it. "That was amazing," he gushes. "You really know how to connect with the youths."

"I have a teenage daughter," I point out.

He starts, like he'd forgotten about Amanda. "Yes. Well. C'mon, the rest of the chaperones will take it from here. I have something to show you."

Mm-hm. I am not a sandwich.

"I think we better stay here, just in case."

Joseph frowns. "In case what?"

"In case they start a conga line," I say brightly. "Wouldn't want to miss that, would we?"

"A cong-"

"Or a kickline. Hey, Manda, do you think we could get them doing a kickline? Maybe to that numa-numa song?"

Amanda perks up. "You never know until you try, Dad."

Disappointed, Joseph wanders off. Victory! Amanda and I spend a good hour just relaxing, occasionally breaking up a couple that's getting a little handsy, and eating the free food. Then around eight-thirty I find Joseph and let him know I'm taking her home before I head out to my other commitment. He thanks me for my help, and we make our escape.

 

* * *

 

Robert and Mary are at a table when I get to Jim and Kim's, him with whiskey and her with wine. Neil hands me a Coke before I can even ask, and grins at my expression. I slip him a $5 just for being awesome like that and head over to sit across from Mary, with Robert on my left.

Mary gives me a dirty look, which isn't much of a surprise. "You actually showed up."

I shoot Robert a confused look, but he's looking at the floor. "Of course I did. Robert invited me."

"Ditched the youth mixer, then?" she asks, skepticism dripping from every word.

"No...I was there for a bit."

Robert downs the rest of his drink. "I gotta powder my nose."

What exactly is going on here?

As soon as he's gone, Mary rakes me with a scathing look. "Step on any pop-tops?"

"No..." I think back to the refreshment table. "All the drinks were in bottles."

She makes a sharp, cutting gesture. "Not there. In Joseph's office."

I'm _really_ confused. Are we having the same conversation? "I...wasn't in Joseph's office. I was in the gym. Chaperoning. Because Joseph asked for help chaperoning."

We sit in awkwardly hostile silence until Robert comes back and sits down.

"He was _chaperoning_ ," Mary spits.

Robert looked surprised. "The whole time?"

"Well, there wasn't much that needed to be done, but I stayed in the gym the whole time watching the kids, yes."

I still have no idea what's happening, but Robert looks pleased with my answer. "I'll get the next round," he tells Mary, and leaves again for the bar.

The look Mary's giving me now is...hungrily speculative. More flashbacks to college, and learning to spot predators.

"So, Jack...you were married for what, eighteen years? I bet you know how to make a woman happy..."

I look her firmly in the eye. "I'll say this _once_. I don't fool around. If there's a problem between you and Joseph, you need to address that with _him_. I won't be a pawn in either of your games, and I won't be an enabler to your self-destructive habits."

She sits up like I've slapped her, offended more than angry. "You're an enabler to Robert's."

"I am no such thing," I say evenly. " I neither encourage nor assist him with regards to getting drunk."

For some reason, that makes her look even _more_ ticked at me, but then Robert's handing her another glass of wine and sitting down with his whiskey.

"Everything okay?" he asks warily.

Mary sips her wine. "Just peachy."

"I have no idea what's going on tonight," I confess. "Except that apparently Joseph doesn't proof-read Ernest's banners before he hangs them."

Robert's eyes light up. "What'd that little delinquent get away with this time?"

Even Mary looks eager to hear this. I take a bracing sip of Coke.

"It said... _Jesus is cuming_. C-U-M-I-N-G."

Both of them crack up. It takes a full three minutes before they wind down to chuckles and wipe their eyes because as soon as one of them seems to start calming down, the other gasps, "Cuming!" and sets them both off again. But hey, at least they're laughing, right?

"I couldn't get it down without cutting it, but I used a scrap of leftover banner plastic to change it to _Jesus is calming_. And then I challenged Joseph to a dance-off because none of the teens wanted to be the first one on the dance floor."

Mary leans back in sharp anticipation. "Oh, I wish I could have seen that."

"Ask my daughter." I grin at her. "She got it on video."

Robert snorts. "Who won?"

"Oh, I did. Easily."

He looks interested. " _Really_."

"Yup. He thought he was going to get me with his Moonwalking, but I came back MC Hammer style and then the DJ put on Single Ladies."

Robert chokes. Mary's watching me with unholy glee.

"And you danced to that?" she demands.

"I had six back-up dancers before the chorus and half the teens dancing by the end of the song," I tell her proudly.

"Yeah," Robert hays huskily. "You won." He dumps his whiskey into what's left of my Coke and pulls the glass over in front of him. "Get yourself another one and tell Neil it's on me."

I'm not _completely_ sure what just happened, but it's slowing down Robert's drinking and on the surface it's a nice gesture, so I'm not questioning it. Neil nods when I ask for another Coke on Robert's tab, and then hesitantly asks if I want something...fancier. Even if it's just some vanilla syrup in my soda. Vanilla Coke sounds good, so I accept.

A minute later I'm heading back, and I hear Robert say, "...serious, Mary, lay off of him."

Mary gives me a different kind of speculative look as I sit back down. Robert's examining the depths of his whiskey and Coke. Awkward.

"So," I say, like I haven't noticed the tension at all, "Craig had a suggestion the other day. He said I should bake mini cherry pies for the next bake sale. Thoughts?"

"Absolutely," Robert says immediately. "But you need to charge more for them. A full dollar, maybe two, to account for the cost of the pans."

"I use muffin tins. No extra cost."

"Do it," Mary says sharply. "The only pies we see are full sized and they _never_ sell because who's going to pay twelve dollars for a pie? What flavors can you do?"

"Um..." I have to think for a minute. "I've done cherry, apple, blueberry, pumpkin, and strawberry. I'm sure I could adapt just about any pie to a mini pie, though."

Mary plays with the rim of her wine glass while fixing me with a very predatory - but not sexual - look. "Your pie filling..."

"From scratch," I answer, mildly offended. "I do use canned pumpkin, but it's the nothing-but-pumpkin stuff. Everything else, fresh fruit. Or frozen, if I absolutely have to. And I make my own pie crusts."

She looks...disgruntled. "The cookies and brownies you made. Also from scratch?" At my nod, she sighs in disgust. "Geez, where were _you_ when I was single?"

"Either in Nowhere, Indiana, or married," I say apologetically.

"Lucky woman," she mutters before finishing her wine.

Robert clears his throat. "They weren't in love. It was platonic for raising her kid."

Mary pins me with a demanding look. I nod.

"So you never..."

"We had an open marriage, but I never did anything with anyone," I say, blushing.

She throws her hands up in disgust. "I'm too sober for this. Rob?"

He shoots her a glare and sips his drink. "Still good."

"Fine. Be right back." She storms off.

"I'm confused."

Robert chuckles. "Mary's regretting that whole 'til death do us part' thing. Again. Don't worry about it."

"But..."

"Jack, you had the best marriage of the three of us, and it wasn't even a romantic relationship."

He sounds tense, and I'm feeling like a fake.

"Doesn't that disqualify me?" I ask quietly. "I wasn't trying to make a romantic relationship work, and Ana was gone most of the time. I don't know that I'd be any good at _all_ at making a relationship work."

Aaand now the silence is painfully awkward. I cast about for a topic, and remember the key.

"Oh! Um..." Carefully, I twist the blue-capped key off my key ring and offer it to him. "Almost forgot. Uh...don't mind the label. I got called Mr. Mom a lot in college so it's...kind of a joke."

Robert looks genuinely touched as he accepts the key and tucks it into his jacket. Then Mary's back with a pair of wine glasses. Thankfully, she's also back on the subject of baked goods and what I would be willing to provide for bake sales, seasonal recipes, that sort of thing. Robert offers to taste-test anything that comes out of my kitchen, and I jokingly inform him that he'll be helping me bake. He doesn't seem opposed to this. We move to a small booth when one opens up, the sort that's meant for two people, but Mary drags a chair over and it's...cozy.

As she gets tipsy and then drunk, I can see a different side of her emerge. Like the squishy adorable drunk Robert, there's a softer Mary under her prickly shell. Granted she's not _much_ softer, but she's less bitter and I get the feeling that being married to Joseph has derailed whatever else she would have done with her life. She does a lot of managing things around the church, but that's like trying to satisfy the desire to cook by playing with an easy-bake oven.

I wonder how she'd do managing some of Craig's business.

Any time Robert goes for drinks, he comes back with what looks like a glass of Coke for himself. Whether he has any whiskey or rum in there, I can't tell, but he's still pretty steady by the time we decide that eleven is late enough. As much as I'd like to be arm in arm with him, we wind up flanking Mary and holding her upright as we make our way back to the cul-de-sac, singing random catchy songs as we go. She shakes us off as we get to her house, although we each get a hug, and then we stand and watch as she weaves her way up the walk and inside the house.

"This was good," Robert says quietly. "Thank you."

"Thanks for inviting me," I reply in the same quiet tone.

He snorts. "Same time next week?"

I smile. "Sounds good. Breakfast at six? I'm thinking French toast and sausage."

He smiles back and fuck, why can't I kiss him? "Sounds good. Night, Jack. Sleep well."

"You too," I tell him. "Night, Robert. Take care."

"I will," he says softly.

I don't exactly stand there and watch him walk to his house, but I do edge backwards down the sidewalk until his door closes behind him and then turn to go inside my own home. Amanda's in bed, according to her whiteboard message. I erase it and brush my teeth, change into PJs, and sigh as I stretch out in bed myself. 

 

* * *

 

The next week feels like the first _real_ week in the neighborhood. Like the first week and a half was for moving in and getting settled, and now it's time to settle into routine. The two or three weeks following feel like...home.

Mornings start with a jog around the park with Craig, and then making breakfast. Robert joins us more than half the time, quietly letting himself in and collecting a hug from Amanda before joining her at the table. Most of the time, he brings me a Chai Antwoord and something ungodly strong for himself. The mornings where he's hung over and still in yesterday's clothes, he also brings banana bread or something else Mat's baked. Sundays are the exception, with Amanda and I going to Craig's and leaving him to fend for himself. When he doesn't come to breakfast, I wait until Amanda's gone to school and then head over to make his usual two eggs over easy and plain toast with a big glass of apple juice.

He slept through it the first time I left him breakfast, then texted me later telling me to wake him up instead of leaving. Luckily, it doesn't take much to wake him. A hand on his shoulder will get a response - usually a grumbled apology, or thanks, or both. I'm not sure what he's apologizing for, and I'm afraid to ask, but I assure him it's okay and let him come to terms with the world while I cook. Then I sit and chat with him for a few minutes while he eats. If he missed coming to breakfast, it's a sure thing that he'll stop by around lunch with takeout, or be there for dinner.

Wednesdays are trivia night, me and Hugo against Brian, Daisy, Mat, and Carmensita while Amanda watches Ernest. I bring her a fancy French dessert on top of the $20 Hugo slips her when we come home. The two teams are pretty evenly matched, surprisingly. Thursdays are pizza night, with Robert joining us. Sundays there's usually something church-related, and then in the evening, hanging out at Jim and Kim's with Robert and Mary. Sometimes one of the other dads will suggest a meet-up - a movie with Damien, lunchtime grilling with Brian, hosting Italian Night for Mat and his daughter, or "If I don't get adult conversation I'm going to murder someone" Saturday outings with Hugo.

Sometimes, usually when I don't have anything else going on, Robert will text me in the afternoon to come hang out with him and we'll spend an hour or two sitting on a bench in the forest, or walking around the cemetery, or watching some random movie in a nearly-empty theater, while he works through a bottle of White Zinfandel. More often, though, he texts me late in the evening to come talk to him either at Jim and Kim's or in his living room. He's always drunk by the time I get there, but he switches to - or puts up with me suggesting - something non-alcoholic, and I always make sure he gets to bed safely. Sometimes he asks me to help him out of his clothes before he crawls under the covers in nothing but his underwear, leaving me biting my lip with how badly I want to touch his skin, tracing the scars with my fingertips. Other nights all he wants is his boots off. He's worryingly thin, but all I can do there is provide food, and I'm doing that already.

A handful of times, he's managed to reach a worrying level of inebriation and "powdering his nose" involves rinsing his mouth in the sink, or our walks home include an unscheduled stop and then using a bottle of water I grabbed on the way out and a handful of napkins I shoved into my pocket. Those nights, I bring him home and sit with him on my couch, getting him to drink some water and making sure he has a big pot nearby just in case. Those nights, I sleep fitfully in the recliner and check on him multiple times during the night. In the morning, he uses my shower before breakfast and changes into clothes that he'd left behind on a previous visit and subsequently went through the laundry with my clothes.

Mary...I have no idea what's going on with her. We're not close, despite the hours we spend around each other in Robert's company or at a church function. It seems like the more recently I've been around Joseph, the more sharp she is with me, but she never actually crosses the line into outright hostility and I don't get the aggressive come-ons she flings at other guys in the bar. Those are weird, too - she seems intent on working guys up as much as she can, but she never goes anywhere with it. Joseph does his best to seem harmless and friendly, the cool youth minister who's engaged but not improperly so, and there's something about him that makes me think of a male bird showing off his plumage in hopes of attracting a female's attention. I only let him talk me into church functions because the kids like me, and I want to be the kind of adult I wished I'd had in my life when I was their age. Mary seems oddly relieved when I confess that, but then she goes back to passive-aggressively needling me.

The more time I spend around Mary, the more wary I am of Joseph. I see too many parallels between her and the things I felt towards my dad. But she's a grown woman, and she's quick to point out that it's not my business whenever I try to delicately bring up how unhappy she seems, so I just let her vent.

All in all, I'm content with the new turn my life has taken and I'm able to help Amanda plan for her transition to college without having an anxiety-induced cleaning/baking fit afterwards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "You want it all, but you can't have it (Yeah, yeah, yeah)  
> It's in your face but you can't grab it (Yeah, yeah, yeah)"
> 
> \- Faith No More, "Epic"


	9. Breaking down and cleaning up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robert asks about Jack's father, looking for clues that might help him reconnect with his daughter. The answers are...not what he expected to hear, but they are a catalyst for some badly-needed change.

Just as Amanda's going to bed, Robert texts me in a flurry.

JACK

I'M DRUNK

JACK

COME TALK TO ME

J&K

My clever daughter knows what's up without even asking me. "Robert wants company?"

"Yeah. Don't stay up." I text him back, letting him know I'll be there soon.

"I won't. Take care of him, Pops." She leans down to hug me. "Love you."

I hug her back. "Love you too, sweetie."

She goes to her room; I lock the door behind me. It's a quick walk to Jim and Kim's, and I collect a Coke from Neil before sliding into the booth across from Robert. He looks well and truly trashed, and Mary is nowhere to be seen.

"Hey," I say gently when Robert doesn't seem to register my presence. "I'm here, Robert."

Blearily, he focuses on me. "Talk to me, Jack. Tell me 'bout yer dad."

My gaze drops to my hands, wrapped around my glass. "What do you want to know?"

"He drank a lot. More than me?"

Slowly, I nod. "Yeah."

"An' you left home. Did you reach back out, or did he?"

"I'm...not sure what you're asking, Robert."

"You stopped talking to him." Robert gives me a vaguely affronted look. "Did you reach back out to him after that, or did he reach out to you."

I let my eyes drop again. "We never lost contact. It was either love him as he was - drinking and all - or leave him, and I was only a teenager. He's dead," I clarify before Robert can ask. "Killed himself, and my little sister, driving drunk and plowing his pickup into a tree. I was a few months shy of eighteen. Was really rough, having to make funeral arrangements and still study for finals."

"But your mom..."

"Died when I was eight. Cancer."

The silence stretches, but it doesn't get any more comfortable. I keep my eyes down.

"I gotta powder my nose," Robert says unsteadily.

Through my eyelashes, I watch him slide out of the booth and make his precarious way to the men's room, using booths and walls for balance. I sip my Coke and wait, but he doesn't come back and I'm not sure how long it's been. I check the time and wait some more. When it's been ten minutes and he's still not back, I'm off to the men's room like a shot.

There's three urinals and three stalls. Robert's legs spill out from the last stall, and it's a relief to hear quiet sobbing coming from it.

"Robert?"

The sobbing stops. I approach slowly, not trying to be quiet. He's sprawled against the toilet, like he didn't have the strength to do anything else after expelling the contents of his stomach. I kneel and wipe his face with toilet tissue before flushing it all down. Robert's not looking at me. I know he's still conscious because he's moving and his knuckles are white around the toilet seat.

"You okay?" I ask softly.

He shudders. "No."

"Gonna be sick again?"

"Nothing left."

Well, that's...unsettling. I push it aside. "Okay. Want to rinse your mouth before I walk you home?"

Robert hesitates, then nods. I get one arm over my shoulder, one of my arms around his chest, and brace myself against the wall to haul him to his feet. He's barely able to stand with my support, so I walk him to the sink and hold him upright while he washes his hands and then cups them, sipping tap water to swish and spit out. A couple repetitions, and then he turns the faucet off. Neil looks concerned as I walk Robert out, half-carrying him, but says nothing.

All the way back, I let my physical closeness and my silence speak for me, but when we get to his house he still won't look at me. Getting the key into the lock doesn't go so well, and I put my hand around his to help him guide it in. The door swings shut behind us, and slowly I lead Robert into his bedroom, kicking various things out of the way as I go.

"Clothes on or off?" I ask as I sit him on the edge of the bed.

Instead of answering, he grabs my shirt and pulls until I sit next to him, arm around his shoulders, and turns to bury his face in my chest. Then I hear the broken sob and realize he's crying again. I hug him tightly, rocking back and forth, sometimes rubbing his back and sometimes stroking his hair. The soothing babble is the same I've used for Amanda - it's alright, I've got you, it's going to be okay, I'm right here. It feels like it takes forever before he winds down to hiccupping and whining exhalations, and I'd be lying if I said that in my attempts to comfort him, my lips never touched his hair. But finally he releases the deathgrip on my shirt and lets his hands fall.

"Just leave me here," he mutters. "Save your concern for someone who deserves it."

"You deserve it," I protest, but he flings himself away from me onto the mattress and curls up into a ball.

"No I don't," he whispers. "Leave me alone, Jack."

My stomach squirms unhappily. "Only because you asked me to," I tell him.

I still leave him water and aspirin. It's a while before I fall asleep.

 

* * *

 

The knock on the door comes mid-way through making breakfast, and Amanda calls out from the hall that she'll get it. I hear her greeting Robert cheerfully, then exclaiming over something just before the scent of Mat's banana bread hits me.

"Toast and two eggs over easy?" I ask over my shoulder as they come into the kitchen. The eggs I'm scrambling are almost done.

Robert sets the traditional Chai Antwoord on the counter for me. "No," he says quietly. "Nothing for me."

"Rob-"

That's as far as I get before I realize he hasn't brought anything for himself. Furthermore, his hair is still damp from a shower, he's wearing cologne, and he's got on clean clothes. But the look he's giving me...

It's pleading. _Desperate_ pleading. Considering the way last night went, I want to abandon the eggs and just hug him until he tells me what's wrong, but I know that will have to wait until Amanda's left for school. As he realizes that I'm not going to finish his name, a tiny spark of a smile crosses his lips and his forehead relaxes just slightly. I think...I need to test that.

"Okay, Rob," I say just loud enough for him to hear and no, I was right - he _likes_ me calling him that.

But he snaps at anyone who calls him 'Rob' where he can hear. Well, except Mary, but only in the bar and he still glares at her.

The implications set my face on fire and I turn back to the eggs.

Robert sits quietly, picking at a slice of banana bread but not really eating it, while Amanda and I have breakfast. We both get hugs when she finishes, he gets a kiss on the temple, and she and I exchange our 'I love you's. Then she's gone, the echoes of the front door filling the sudden silence of the house. 

Abruptly, Robert stands and walks into the living room. As I follow, I can hear him kicking off his boots. He's sitting on one end of the couch, hugging his knees like he's trying to take up as little space as possible, head turned away from me. I sit down close enough to touch him but not close enough to crowd him. I know his level of cleanliness tends to be inversely proportionate to the extent of his inebriation when I last saw him, but the cologne is new and he's never refused breakfast before. And last night...I can't shake the idea that he made himself vomit and then kept going until there was nothing left. Clearly _something_ hit a nerve.

"Talk to me," I urge gently. "Tell me what's wrong."

"It's me," he says quietly, still facing away. "I'm what's wrong. I've fucked up everything else in my life but..." Robert hugs his knees tighter. It's several tight breaths before he says, "I don't want to fuck things up with you."

I feel like I'm standing on a mountain of snow, and any step could crumble beneath my feet. There's so many implications in what he's just said, but all I can focus on is... " _With_ me?"

Robert turns his head and gives me a fragile smile. "I like you, Jack. I like you a lot. You're...special to me."

"I like you too," I blurt like a dumb teenager with a crush.

He shudders. "But you deserve someone better than me. I...I'm not a nice person, Jack. And I know that it's just a matter of time before you realize that and leave me the way you should have left your dad, but I want..." His voice breaks on the last word and he presses his face against his knees, breathing harshly for a minute. "I want to be better, Jack," he whispers. "I don't want to be your dad. I don't want you to feel like you have to put up with my bad habits because the alternative is leaving. I don't want to be alone, Jack. I don't want to lose you."

I'm not sure who moved first but my arms are around Robert and his are around me and we're kissing, lips brushing and breaking apart and grappling hungrily and then Robert's crying and I've got his head on my shoulder, holding him close and kissing his hair.

"You're not going to lose me," I reassure him. "You're not my dad. I'm not going to leave you. We'll get through this together. I'll help you be better."

It feels like forever before Robert's wound down, and for a handful of minutes we just revel in me holding him, his head on my shoulder, quiet and emotionally intimate.

"We've got a lot of talking to do," I murmur. "How do you want to start?"

"I don't," he murmurs back. "But...Jack, I was serious about not fucking things up with you. I...I want to hold off on...everything...until I'm less of a fuck-up."

"Okay," I say instantly. It's not even a disappointment. "Just friends?"

"Just friends," he agrees reluctantly, moving to sit up.

I don't try to keep him in my arms, but I do say, "Friends hug," and he gives me a borderline-hostile look  that fades into the smile that melts me. I beam back at him and slowly, he shifts on the couch until we're sitting side by side with one arm around the other and his head is resting on my shoulder again. Somehow, our free hands have found each other, and I'm not sure I've ever been this...happy.

"Okay," Robert sighs. "First thing: I don't want to be your dad. Bad habits are hard to break. Lay some ground rules for me."

"No more Jim and Kim's without me, and I order your drinks."

He thinks about it for a minute. "No more _any bar_ without you, and you order my drinks."

My thumb rubs lightly over his knuckles. "Good catch. You could have used that loophole, but you pointed it out instead. You get two brownie points for that."

"How many brownie points do I need to get to cash them in for actual brownies?" he asks, his voice warm and rich.

"Sixteen for a small batch," I tell him, laughing.

"Okay. No going to a bar without you. That won't keep me dry."

"I wasn't trying to," I tell him gently. "Prohibition doesn't work. Nothing will keep you dry unless you _want_ to be dry. But..." I give it some thought. He needs a nudge that won't feel like a noose. "If you get drunk and I'm not there, you need to contribute to breakfast the next morning."

"What if I want to have breakfast with you and Amanda anyway?"

"Then you're a guest," I tell him cheerfully. Belatedly, the dots connect. "Robert...was that what was bothering you last night? Comparing yourself to my father?"

He shudders and buries his face in my shoulder. After a few seconds, he nods.

"Do I need to make a rule about driving drunk?"

"No," he whispers.

I hug him tighter. "Okay. I don't think there's any other way you might compare, though. You're not a distant, emotionally manipulative asshole like he was."

Robert freezes. "Not to you," he says in a strangled voice.

The snow's crumbling beneath my feet. "Talk to me," I urge gently.

He shakes his head.

"Robert," I say patiently, "the night we started out bar hopping and ended up sneaking into a movie, you showed me more affection and respect than I got from my dad in an average month."

"Your dad was a dick," he mumbles into my shoulder.

Reflexively, I want to protest, but the second half of my life has proven to me that my father was, undeniably, a dick. "Have you ever been that bad?" I ask instead.

Robert hesitates before finally saying, "No. But I was still a selfish prick."

"You said _was_ ," I point out teasingly. "That means you know you got better."

"No," he says heavily, hand tightening around mine even as he lifts his head and turns away. "I just lost the opportunity."

He hesitates, and I lay my head on his shoulder.

"Promise you won't leave me?" he begs quietly, voice shaking.

"I promise, Rob."

He makes a sound like a sob. "I don't deserve you."

I smile and run my thumb over his knuckles again. "Deal with it. Tell me what happened?"

"Okay." Robert takes a deep breath, fingers brushing against mine. "I spent my whole life only taking, and taking, and taking. And then I lost everything. And now here I am, an old, broken man sitting on top of a pile of everything I've ever taken, alone."

"I don't count?" I ask quietly.

Robert freezes. "You count." The words are tight, like they're choking him. "Some days I think you're the only one who does. Mary tries, but-" The arm around my waist tightens. "I have a daughter. Val. She lives back home in Brooklyn, making buckets of money at some new media online magazine thing. I care about her. I always did. Things just...got in the way and I guess I never told her, or did much to show her. Then before I knew it she was leaving for college, wanting nothing to do with me."

No wonder he envies my relationship with Amanda. "How old is she?"

"Twenty-five. Maybe twenty-six, I'm not sure. It's been three or four years since I last saw her." He sounds...defeated. "Went to her graduation when she got her degree. Had to get the date from the college because she didn't tell me. Didn't invite me. Didn't want me there."

Robert's voice nearly breaks on the last words, and he takes a few minutes to calm his breathing. I snuggle a bit closer, and he presses his cheek to the top of my head for a long moment.

"After Val left for college, Marilyn and I moved out here to settle down. We thought it would help...us...to get away from all the distractions, all the money...the drinking. Start fresh. But...temptation gets to you. I tried to be better but I just...couldn't. Things got bad between us. Fighting. More drinking. More fighting. And then..." Robert squeezes my hand painfully tight, as if he could hold himself together with that grip. "The accident...changed everything. She called me for help, but I was drunk off my ass. She wasted time trying to get a hold of me and  by the time the ambulance got there..." He shudders. "I think every day about how she must have died hating me. I never became the better man that she wanted me to be. The one she always saw in me. The one she deserved."

There's nothing I can say to that, but I turn and hug him for a long minute.

"Marilyn - my wife - she was the last thread Val and I had connecting us together. I didn't know that when I lost my wife I was gonna lose my daughter, too. I spent so much time chasing after things I thought were gonna make me happy that I ignored them and ruined my only real chance at happiness. Now my wife is dead and my daughter hates me. What am I doing with my life, Jack?" It's half a plea, half an uncertain wail.

I lean back and look him in the eyes. "You're realizing that you made mistakes and trying to get better."

Robert closes his eyes and looks away. "You did everything right. Your daughter loves you. You're a good person. I was a terrible husband and I'm an even worse father. Tell me what to do, Jack, because I don't want to keep fucking up."

I free my hands and cup his face. "You're going to do the same thing I've done every day since my mom got sick: you're going to wake up each morning and tell yourself that yeah, things suck, but even if you don't think you can take it, there's someone who cares about you, and you don't want them to suffer." I give him a sad little smile. "You know I didn't marry Ana because I loved her. I married her because she needed someone to help with her unborn baby, and I needed someone to help or I was going to lie down and never get back up."

That gets me hugged, and I can feel Robert tremble.

"Things aren't going to fix themselves tomorrow," I tell him softly. "Or the next day. But nothing is going to change if _you_ don't change."

"I want to change," he whispers. "But I don't know where to start."

"Start with Val."

He pulls back. "I can't." The protest is automatic, reflexive, weak.

"Do you have her number?"

Robert nods.

"Call her. Tell her you're trying to change. Apologize. If she won't listen, leave a voicemail. Hand the phone to me. Just reach out to her." I give him another sad smile. "I know for a fact you can be furious at someone and still love them and wish for even the slightest hint of an apology. Give her a chance."

Slowly, Robert nods. Then he leans forward and slumps against me, head on my shoulder. I stroke his hair and rub his back.

"You can do it, Rob," I murmur. "I'll be right here with you, unless you don't want me listening."

"I want you here," he says, the words muffled by my shirt. There's a pause. "Can I have breakfast afterwards? I mean, after my stomach calms down. I've been so nervous..." He laughs against my shoulder, dark and full of pain. "That's a lie. I've been _terrified_ since I woke up, and my stomach's in knots."

"Of course." I press my cheek against his hair, hugging him tightly. "Rob, listen to me. It's gonna be okay."

Robert's arms tighten around me, too. "But..."

"It's gonna be okay. You've got me. I'm not going anywhere."

He shudders, and then his desperate grip relaxes some. "Thank you, Jack. Thanks for not letting me chase you off. Thanks for beating sense into my thick skull. Thanks for...understanding. About us."

"I'm happy to wait until you're comfortable," I tell him softly. "Sometimes I feel like I waited half my life to meet you; I can wait as long as it takes to make sure you're ready." 

Robert laughs shakily. "You're too good to me, Jack. What would I do without you? Don't answer that," he adds hurriedly.

I laugh, too. "I won't, as long as you pick up your phone and call your daughter."

Reluctantly, we separate so Robert can dig out his phone. He looks like he's facing a firing squad as he dials and listens, but then his expression shifts to guilty relief and resignation as Val doesn't pick up.

"Hey, Val, it's your old man." Robert gets up and starts pacing. "Listen, I know you probably never want to hear from me again and I don't blame you. I've been a shitty father. You deserved better, and nothing is gonna change that. I'm sorry about everything I've ever done or failed to do. I'm a dumpster fire, I know that, but..." his eyes lock with mine. "I'm getting help. Trying to be better. Taking it one day at a time and...fuck, kid, I'm so sorry. I don't know what else to say. I know you'll probably delete this without listening, and that's exactly what I deserve, but if there's any shred of..." He breaks off, biting his lip and looking away. "I love you, Val," he chokes out, tears running down his cheeks. "I'm so sorry."

The instant he hangs up I'm there, hugging him tightly as he cries into my shoulder. "That was good," I murmur reassuringly to him. "You did good."

"What if she doesn't respond?" he whispers, face buried in my neck.

"Then you try again next week. Think of it as your own personal confession. How do you feel?"

He sniffles and takes a deep breath. "Like a dumpster fire that's burning out. I think I've been so worked up that now I'm emotionally exhausted. And hungry."

My lips itch to kiss his forehead, but I smile at him instead. "Three-egg omelet, ham and cheddar, home fries with peppers, onion, and bacon?"

"Only because no one will deliver a Hawaiian pizza this early in the day," he jokes. "Jack...thank you for helping me."

I hug him again. "Thank you for letting me help."

We joke around as I make Robert's breakfast, and then he eats like he hasn't seen food for a week. We watch a movie after that, his commentary a comfortable counterpoint to the rhythm of dialogue and music, our bodies loose and relaxed as we cuddle a bit closer than is strictly platonic.

"I don't want to go back to my place," Robert sighs when the credits end. "It's a complete mess, just like me."

My thumb rubs the back of his hand. "So let's fix that. I'm helping you clean up, right? Let's go clean."

Robert groans, but there's no force behind it.

We attack his kitchen first, washing dishes and scrubbing surfaces. Sorting the contents of the fridge and freezer, going through the cabinets to see what's there and re-organize them. Robert takes the trash out twice before we're done, and then I improvise a lunch from what's left. He keeps looking around the kitchen as he eats, as if he can't believe this is really his house.

"Can we do the bathroom next?" he asks. "It's kind of scary in there and I'd appreciate having someone to watch my six while I show the germs what for."

I grin. "Queensbury-sanctioned throwdown?"

He grins back. "With bleach."

The bathroom is...terrifying. I suspect it hasn't had a good cleaning since Val graduated from college, if not since Marilyn died, and that Robert's irregular hygiene has less to do with apathy and more to do with being afraid of touching the bathroom surfaces with his bare skin. I unearth some latex gloves from under the sink, because I don't want to touch that with my bare skin either, and we get to work.

While various cleansers are soaking in the master bath, Robert takes the trash out - an assortment of empty plastic bottles, empty liquor bottles, grungy cardboard, used sponges, nasty paper products, and one particularly horrific hand towel - and I check the half-bath next to the kitchen. It's slightly less horrific. He comes back to me sweeping out the accumulation of dark hair and rummages in the linen closet until he finds me a dust pan and broom. Then he starts a new trash bag. There's a pile of empty toilet paper rolls that had been collecting behind the toilet and plastic wrappers jammed under the sink, along with more empty liquor bottles. The half-bath isn't big enough for both of us, so Robert fetches me cleaning supplies at my request. Windex, paper towels, bleach cleanser, sponge, toilet bowl cleaner, brush. Several times, he tries to apologize for his house being a mess.

"Don't," I tell him firmly. "I'm not actually a neat freak. I've just been using cleaning as a coping mechanism since I was seven."

He sits on the floor, back against the doorframe, watching me scrub the corner behind the toilet. "That doesn't mean you should be cleaning my bathroom for me. I should be cleaning it; I'm the one who messed it up."

"Just wait until Amanda goes to college," I tell him dryly. "I'll be going crazy with nothing to occupy me. I'll be _begging_ to clean your house."

Robert watches me for a minute. "So," he says slowly, "we find healthier things to do _together?_ "

"We could always take up jogging in the afternoons with Craig." I grin at him. "Get a membership to his gym, work on our six-packs?"

"There's the animal shelter," Robert suggests. "We could combine jogging with walking the dogs. Mobile advertising. Get matching tee-shirts made that say 'Like my dog? Ask how you can adopt it!' and wear them while we take the dogs out."

"Sounds like a win-win-win situation to me." I straighten up and hand him the filthy paper towel I'd been using. "I think the half-bath is done. Time for me to lounge around and watch you scrub the master bath," I tell him, grinning.

He grins back. "Do you want me to take my shirt off? I'm joking," he adds as I blush. "Maybe. Do you actually want me to take my shirt off?"

"I wouldn't say no if you decided to, but if we're trying to keep it platonic until you're more emotionally stable, that is _not_ the way to do it."

Robert gives me the gentle smile I adore. "Point taken," he says softly.

The master bath looks _worlds_ cleaner by the time we're done with it, and Robert looks like a weight has been taken off his shoulders. He also looks a little green from the cleaning fumes, and I'm sure I look the same.

"Looks great," I tell him quietly.

"Yeah." He hesitates. "Is it okay if I take a shower at your place, though?"

I laugh. "Of course. Amanda will be home soon, too, and I want to put together something for dinner."

Robert gives me the borderline-hostile look I'm starting to realize means 'I care but I don't want to look like I care'. "I can't let you do that, Jack. Chinese, or pizza?"

"Ooh. I could go for some cashew chicken and egg drop soup." I stretch. "And maybe a nap."

"I'll grab a DVD for us to watch while we eat. We can fall asleep on the couch and wake up at midnight, cursing ourselves."

"I counter with giving Amanda permission to flick peas at our faces until we wake up before she goes to bed."

Robert chuckles and stretches. "She'd love that. Sounds like a plan."

Two showers later, Amanda comes in the front door to find that the coffee table has been transformed into a Chinese buffet, and Robert and I are sitting on couch cushions on the floor. It doesn't even faze her. She dumps her backpack by the couch and joins us on the third cushion.

"What's the occasion, Pops?" she asks as she helps herself to lo mein and an egg roll.

"Your father sold you to me in exchange for an order of cashew chicken," Robert deadpans while I nearly choke on my soup. "I'm your new father."

"Cool. I'm gonna call you Knife Dad."

Robert gives her a stern look. "Do you even have a pocketknife, young lady?"

Mouth full of noodles, Amanda shakes her head.

"Unacceptable." He rummages around in his pockets and finally produces a small switchblade. "Take it. Blade's small enough to be allowed in schools. I won't have you going around unarmed."

She takes it, face lighting up with glee. "Thanks, Knife Dad!"

"Just remember to wipe it clean after each kill," he tells her solemnly.

"I promise." She gives it a beat. "Now, what's the _real_ reason?"

"Valor in the face of disaster," he answers, grabbing a skewer of teriyaki beef. "Your dad helped me clean out my fridge."

"And your bathrooms," I add. "It's a good thing you didn't see it, sweet pea. You wouldn't be able to sleep for a week. You'd have nightmares about the tiles coming to life and crawling down the hall after you."

Robert opens his mouth, thinks for a second, closes his mouth, and shrugs. "Yeah. He's right. On that note, I'm crashing on your couch tonight."

Amanda grins. "Cool. Welcome to the family, Knife Dad."

The look on Robert's face is what I'd expect from someone who was snatched away from the jaws of death by an angel. He looks at me, sees me beaming, and blushes before smiling shyly back.

I don't care that we're keeping it platonic for the time being. Not having to hide that I care...knowing that _he_ cares...it already feels like I'm floating, like I'm a flower bathing in the sunlight of his affection.

Maybe not. I need to think of a better simile. But everything's gonna be okay.


	10. Disney-safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack was born on Flag Day and his dad always told him there were "better things" to celebrate on that day. 
> 
> Robert disagrees.

With a month and a half before Amanda graduates high school, it's time to plan her graduation party. She says she doesn't want a big deal made of anything. She's just going to go to the party the school's throwing that night - after a quick dinner, since graduation is on a Thursday - and then spend Friday recovering and reveling in her temporary freedom from school before her online college summer classes start. Joseph's barbecues, I found out, are monthly and on the first Saturday. No scheduling conflict there. Quietly, I go to Brian first and secure his excellent grilling skills, then to Mat for music. It takes a few days of private discussion, but I secure everyone's promise to be there for the party. Even Joseph, Mary, and their kids.

Now that Robert and I are no longer guessing about how the other feels, we're...closer. The distance caused by uncertainty collapses and he really _is_ part of the family. Aside from when we're hosting Mat and Carmensita, he eats with us almost every night. Even when I'm not there, like on trivia nights, Robert and Amanda order pizza or Chinese together. The nights that would have been spent in his living room, him drunk and me keeping him company, turn into nights spent on my couch watching movies while he works his way through part of some bottle or another, never getting quite as drunk but slipping more easily into the adorable squishy stage. Then, when it's time for bed, he camps on the couch. More than once, he opts to come grocery shopping with me, and then insists on paying. "I eat more of your food than I do mine," he protests as he helps me load the groceries into the car, and I can't argue with that.

When I accompany him to Jim and Kim's, it's only on the nights that Mary's with us. If she has any opinions about Robert switching from straight whiskey to whiskey and Coke, she doesn't voice them. The nights he would have been there drinking alone, we hit Pete's Piece O' Pizza for slices of Hawaiian and then see a movie. We still spend quiet hours in the graveyard or the forest, but either without the wine or with a bottle that's only a few ounces. Craig okays Robert joining us for Sunday breakfast, and a few mornings a week he silently joins us on our morning jog - at least _part_ of the way.

I don't expect him to be perfect, not with a years-old habit like this, and he does backslide a few times. A few Wednesday nights, while I'm out with Hugo, Mat, and Brian - that's what led to him joining Amanda for watching Ernest - and a couple Sundays he's clearly hit a bottle or two before he got to Jim and Kim's. But he's making tremendous progress otherwise, and I let him know several times a week how proud I am of him for that. His hygiene normalizes now that he doesn't have to worry about losing a limb to the crud in the bathtub or the dust bunnies mugging him while he brushes his teeth, and the other dads (except Joseph) take note of this.

At all the church functions and youth activities Joseph ropes me into - and I don't mind, I like cooking for a good cause and being a mentor to teens - he never, ever asks me about Robert. If I bring Robert up, Joseph pretends he didn't hear the other man's name or changes the subject. It's all about me, like a moth fluttering at a window, Joseph looking for a way in. A weakness. It makes me weirdly glad that my coping mechanisms involve locking myself down, because even though he _says_ he's glad I'm dealing so well with the loss of my wife (although I still haven't taken the ring off), it comes off as the fox praising the tree's height while being disappointed that the grapes are out of reach.

The first few "let's catch up" minutes of our conversations, any time I'm hanging out with the other dads, tends to involve keeping tabs on how Robert's doing. It warms my heart. They're not pushing him to be more social than he's comfortable with, but they're open and welcoming when he chooses to be. Damien invites us over for tea sometimes, or joins us appreciating the quiet beauty of the old cemetery. A few times a week, I visit the Coffee Spoon and let Mat suggest drinks for me. Robert comes with me, and Mat includes him, suggesting things with cream and flavor rather than his usual black coffees. If he's unhappy with himself, he sticks with the black. But more and more, he lets Mat serve him what I think of as the coffee equivalent to White Zinfandel: something he drinks for the pleasure of it rather than the effect it has on his body.

Robert's still worryingly thin, but that just gives me an excuse to feed him and now, at least, I'm not overstepping my bounds if I fuss over him. Brian welcomes him for the occasional lunchtime grilling he hosts, and if it's on a Saturday, Hugo joins us as well. Joseph's neighborhood barbecue in May, shortly after we had our heart-to-heart, was the only time I've seen Robert revert to his clammed-up, antisocial, perpetually-drunk self. It was _beyond_ worrying. Robert hovered around the edges, glaring at us all over the rim of his whiskey glass, and wouldn't even talk to me until the party broke up. Then he not only came back with us, but locked himself in the bathroom for half an hour and wouldn't let me in until he'd stopped retching. Even Amanda was worried about him, and that's when she suggested I text Craig and ask if Robert was welcome for breakfast.

 

* * *

 

Naturally, when the June barbecue approaches, I'm nervous enough that Robert picks up on it and one night, after dinner but before we start a movie, he asks me sharply what's wrong.

"You worried me after the last cookout," I tell him quietly, my fingers threaded desperately through his. "You worried _Amanda_. You don't have to tell me why Joseph puts you on edge. Just tell me if there's something I can do to help."

Robert looks away for a long minute, his hand grasping mine tightly in silent reassurance. "Knowing that you're worried helps," he says in something barely louder than a whisper. "Keep Joseph away from me. That will help a lot. I don't want to talk to him."

I lift our entangled hands and press them to my cheek. "You got it, Rob."

He pulls me into a hug, his breath in my hair making me shiver. "Thank you."

Naturally, I call upon the other dads for help. At the cookout, Robert is never left alone and if Joseph heads in his direction, someone intercepts him while Robert is transferred to the company of someone else. It's one giant game of keep-away, and everyone seems to be having fun except Joseph, who pretends he's not frustrated. Robert actually seems to be enjoying himself a bit, and he doesn't drink _nearly_ as much. 

"Let's go for a drive," he says when the cookout breaks up for the evening. "Your car," he adds before I can do more than open my mouth. "Even if I hadn't been drinking, I'm too wound up to be behind the wheel right now."

I hug him. Just for a moment, but it's enough that he buries his face in my shoulder before straightening.

"You mind if I smoke in your car?" he asks quietly.

"Clove smoke would only be an improvement, Rob."

He smiles at that. "Thank you."

Amanda hugs us both and tells us to be safe because she loves _both_ of us. Robert looks like he's just been stabbed in the chest with happiness and he's going to cry.

"I love you too," he whispers as I grin.

"Love you too, Panda," I tell her.

We climb into the car and Robert immediately rolls the passenger window down before lighting one of the clove cigarettes he smokes when he needs to calm his nerves. I let him give me directions, and it's not a surprise when he chain-smokes three cloves before finally tossing the last butt with a sigh. He directs me to pull off the highway, then drive down a dirt path to a familiar-looking clearing where I turn around.

"Isn't this where...?"

"I thought we could masturbate together," he answers. Three seconds later we're both laughing. "I just need some serious quiet to help me sort out my thoughts."

"What about the Dover Ghost?" I ask warily.

Robert lights another cigarette. "I checked youtube videos that night. We heard a pissed-off bobcat. Came back in the morning and checked the tracks. Bobcat tangled with a bear who'd been fishing in the stream."

A part of me that had been tense relaxes. "Oh. That's fine, then."

I park the car and we go around to lean against the trunk and watch the distant lights. Robert smokes his clove, fingers tangled in mine, and the silence is velvety and warm.

"Val wants to come to the party," he says softly.

"She's more than welcome."

"I'm scared."

Without saying a word, I stand and pull him into a hug. He trembles, arms slowly coming up to hold me tight, head on my shoulder. For a handful of minutes we stand there, listening to his shaky breaths.

"We don't talk directly," he whispers into the night. "She hangs up on me whether I call or pick up. I have to let it go to voicemail, and leave her voicemail. She said she didn't trust my word. I gave her Amanda's number. I did this, Jack."

He's crying. I rub his back and hug him tighter. It takes him a few minutes to be able to talk again.

"I was a shitty enough father than I drove my daughter away and she won't take my word without outside confirmation. She won't talk to me except in recordings."

"But she still wants to come to the party..."

"For _Amanda_. She's still on the fence if she wants to actually talk to me. Help, Jack. I don't want to fuck things up. I don't want to lose my daughter again."

"You won't," I promise him. But I know he's too worked up to accept that, and sure enough-

"How can you be so sure?"

"You said you gave her Amanda's number, and she wants to come to the party _for Amanda_. That means Manda's been talking to her enough that they're friends. If I know my daughter, she's been sending Val updates several times a day. Every time you help her watch Ernest. Every time you come to dinner and _don't_ drink. Every morning you're not hung over. All the times you help me cook, or bake. All of the progress you've been making, filtered through the eyes of a girl _who sees you as a surrogate parent_."

Robert goes still in my arms, and I smile.

He leans back enough that he can look me in the eyes. "She does?"

"There's a _reason_ she calls you Knife Dad." I smile at him. "She likes you. Yeah, she's still going to be brutally honest, but to be honest? You _have_ made a lot of progress. And Val's got to know that."

"But she said..." He trails off as I shake my head.

"If it were you, trying to reconnect to your estranged father, would you tell him how you really felt until you'd had a chance to see him and judge him for yourself?"

His eyebrows draw together. "No."

"Think of how much better you've gotten in the last few months. Amanda's watched your progress. Val may still be wary and keeping her distance, but unless you do something extreme like get falling-down drunk and barf in the punch bowl, you should be fine."

Robert thinks that over for a minute. "I thought you decided against having a punch bowl."

"I did. _That's_ how badly you'd have to work at screwing up."

I manage to keep it deadpan until Robert cracks a smile, and then we're both laughing.

"I owe you one, Jack," he chuckles, shaking his head and leaning against the rear bumper again.

"Yeah, well, if it ever turns out that Ana's _not dead_ ," I say dryly as I join him, "I'm gonna need you to pry me out of myself because I'm going to lock up _hard_."

He glances at me, concerned. "Lock up how?"

When I hesitate, he sidles closer and wraps an arm around my waist.

"Come on, Jack. Talk to me."

"I...didn't have a whole lot of support after my mom got sick. Her side of the family refused to have anything to do with us while my dad was in the picture, and he only supported us financially. So if I needed anything - a kind word, a hug, reassurance, _anything_ emotional - I was on my own. I had to just suck it up and keep going. That's why I channel nervous energy and anxiety into cleaning and baking. If I can't redirect it into something productive, I bottle it up. Lock it away. If it's too overwhelming, I bottle _myself_ up. Lock _myself_ away. I get lost inside myself until an outside stimulus grabs my attention."

"Jesus fuck, Jack..."

Robert pulls me unto a hug, my face against his chest, the scents of leather and clove filling my nostrils. It's protective. Comforting. Soothing. I can feel the tension drain out of me.

"Just like that," I murmur. "That'll work."

He runs a hand over the back of my head and lets out a breathy little laugh. "Jack, you're a sap."

"I know," I sigh.

He hugs me a little tighter. "But it's sweet. You're still okay with waiting?"

"Of course."

"I don't want you to be unhappy," he says quietly. "You're what gives me the strength to wake up every day and try to be better."

My cheeks are on fire and my heart is in my throat. I wrap my arms around Robert and nuzzle his chest a little. "How could I be happy with something that hurt you? You're not ready to go further, we don't go further. I'm happy just spending time with you and knowing that you care."

"That's not fair," he whispers into my hair. "How am I supposed to punish myself for making you wait when you're happy?"

Quietly, I chuckle. I try to make it an evil chuckle, but I'm not sure how well it worked. "You fell victim to my evil plan. Soon, I will have achieved my goal."

"What goal?" he asks warily.

"You will be so happy, you'll never try to punish yourself again."

Robert releases me and throws his head back, laughing heartily. It's the open, easy, carefree laugh that makes my heart sing, and I'm so glad I don't have to hide that I care because I'm pretty sure I'm looking at him in 100% pure adoration.

"Thanks, Jack," he says warmly when the laughter has died down, and I can almost see his warm, brown eyes glowing with love. "I really needed that. Ready to go back?"

"Happy to help," I tell him, smiling. "Feeling better?"

He yawns. "Yeah. I think I can actually sleep now. Mind if I camp on your couch tonight?"

I struggle not to yawn, too. "Of course not. Wouldn't want you to sleep through breakfast with Craig and his girls tomorrow."

The drive back is comfortably quiet. As we get ready for bed, we give each other soft little looks that I like to think are like kisses performed with the eyes. I fall asleep with the memory of leather and cloves in my nostrils, my heart feeling so full of love and light that it's going to transcend my body.

 

* * *

 

The week leading up to graduation, I'm so focused on prepping secretly for Amanda's party that Robert tells me in no uncertain terms that he's taking me out to lunch on Wednesday and to wear something nice. When lunchtime on Wednesday rolls around, I'm wearing dress pants, nice shoes, and my go-to dark blue button-up shirt. I'm also pacing. The knock on the door is a relief, but the cabbie standing on the other side turns that relief to confusion.

"I'm here to pick up a Mr. Jack Morrison for lunch with Mr. Robert Small," he says crisply.

Robert sent a cab to pick me up? Nervously, I double check that I have wallet, keys, and phone and climb into the cab. Even with the GPS on my phone, I have no idea where we're going but finally, the cab stops in front of a _very_ fancy restaurant and a slender man in a suit hands the cabbie a wad of bills, then opens the door for me.

It's not until I stand up and turn to thank him that I realize it's Robert.

Aside from the suit, he's clean-shaven and the combination makes him look _smoking_ hot. Then he grins at my expression, and I think I'm going to swoon because I feel like I'm being courted by an Italian prince. God _damn_ , he cleans up nice! The only problem, I think as he takes my arm and leads me inside, is that he doesn't look like _Robert_. He's gorgeous, yes, but...he's not my adorable scruffy cute Robert. He's a handsome stranger, and I find myself searching his face out of the corner of my eye, trying to convince myself that it's really him, that I'm being silly. He's like a different person, confident and smooth, someone accustomed to having the maître d' bow and scrape to him.

We're led to a small table against a wall, with a half-moon booth scooped out of the wall. It's cozy and intimate, just big enough for two. We slide in and wind up sitting...not _exactly_ side by side, but not facing each other, either. Robert thanks the maître d', who leaves us alone with the menus.

"Hey," he says quietly, rough and familiar. "Jack. What's wrong?"

I sneak a look and get lost in his eyes. They're worried, his eyebrows beetling in a reassuringly familiar way. The dichotomy circles in my brain for a minute - worried, scruffy Rob, smooth Italian prince - and makes words exceedingly difficult.

"Jack?"

"Stubble," I mutter, breaking eye contact and half-hiding behind my menu.

"I wanted to surprise you," he says apologetically. "Was it...a bad surprise?"

When I'm not looking at him, he sounds the same and my mind smushes his normally-prickly face into the fancy suit and my cheeks feel like they're on fire. "You look good in that suit," I say in a low voice. "Very...yes."

"But not clean-shaven?"

The fire spreads to the tips of my ears. "It looks good. _Really_ good. But...it doesn't look like _you_."

There's no response to that, and when I glance over, he's staring at me in shock. I quickly avert my eyes.

"You...really like the stubble?"

It's not possible to blush any harder, but I duck my head a little and nod briefly.

"But you also...is it just the way I look? I...think of this as research for when I'm not a complete fuckup," he says a little desperately. "Market research. You're my target audience. I'm trying a new flavor. Give me feedback."

"I like Classic Rob best," I say shyly. "But...Italian Prince Rob is nice, too. I'm just...not used to it."

"Italian Prince?" He sounds astounded, and when I look at him, he's blushing and half-hiding behind _his_ menu. "Let's...actually look at the menus before we get further into that."

We look at the menus. The waiter arrives with ice water, and we order. I have no idea what I ordered. Robert takes my hand as the waiter leaves with the menus.

"I look like an Italian prince?" he asks softly.

I nod, not looking at him. "It's not just the suit and the...cheeks. You act like you're used to going everywhere in a limousine instead of a beat-up pickup. Like you should be living in a penthouse instead of a suburb, and everyone should know who you are and...be impressed but not make a big deal out of it. It's not _you,_ " I finish, hearing a note of whining in my voice and hating it.

There's silence for a minute or two, but Robert's hand on mine makes it comfortable.

"So I need to keep it down-to-earth," he says finally. "Keep it real. Just you and me against the Dover Ghost."

He shifts beside me and lets go of my hand to muss his hair. I hadn't even realized that it had been tamed until it was tousled again. He's slouching in the booth, and when he catches me looking, he gives me the gentle smile and I'm done, I'm going to melt and drip onto the floor. Robert snakes an arm around my waist and tugs me in to lean against him.

"It that better?" he asks softly.

I can smell his cologne.

"I still miss the stubble," I murmur. "I...like the feel. I like imagining feeling that scratch while you kiss me."

"You like it a little rough. I can respect that. You keep things clean, you like it a little dirty. How long should I let it get before I trim it?"

"Uh...a few days?" I'm blushing again. "I'll let you know."

"Okay," he says softly. A minute later, he asks, " _Where_ are you imagining me kissing you? I might want to do a bit more market research. Refine things so that when I'm ready, I can be everything you've been dreaming about."

The thought Robert would want to change something about himself just because I like it better makes me squeak a little. The thought of him kissing my neck to find the optimal amount of stubble sets my cheeks on fire again. "Just my neck," I whisper.

We sit in warm silence for a few minutes, arms around each other's backs and hands clasped in front of us.

"We're not keeping this very platonic, are we?" Robert asks dryly.

I laugh. "I couldn't pretend to not have feelings for you even if I wanted to, which I don't, and I hope the same is true for you."

"It is," he murmurs.

"We're keeping it PG. Disney-safe."

Robert chuckles. "I never thought I'd ever be described as _Disney-safe,_ " he chokes out. "Not unless I was the villain."

I sit up and grin at him. "Hey, at least you get to be interesting. I'd be relegated to The Handsome Prince and have no fun and no screen time until the very end of the film."

He snorts. "Screw that. Amanda's the princess. It's a new tale for a new generation, the villain is reformed by the Handsome Prince and they live happily ever after while the princess goes to college instead of worrying about boys."

"I'd watch that," I tell him. "Especially if it means we get to sing a duet."

Unexpectedly, Robert blushes. And looks away. And then the food comes and we busy ourselves exploring our dishes.

There may be a little bit of 'hey taste this' as an excuse to feed each other. Not that either of us are going to admit to that.

Almost as soon as we push our plates away, a pair of waiters appear. One of them clears away the dishes and silverware, and the other sets a dessert down in front of me. I hadn't even _looked_ at the dessert menu, but if I had, this is what I would have chosen. There's a tartlet in the middle of the plate, filled with a light, creamy...something whipped. But set into that are slices of strawberry that have been arranged to look like a lotus, and surrounding the tartlet are half a dozen chocolate-covered strawberries, milk and dark alternating. As I'm taking in this glorious sight, the waiter takes out a lighter and lights the silver-colored candle I hadn't noticed sticking up in the middle of the tartlet.

" _Bon anniversaire,_ " the waiter murmurs before retreating.

It takes me a second to dig out my high school French and translate that, and then I groan and cover my face with both hands.

"Jack?"

"It's my birthday," I mutter, voice muffled.

Robert laughs softly. "Did you think I got all dolled up for the fun of it?"

"I forgot! Manda's graduation is tomorrow, my birthday is nothing special..." I let my hands drop and find that Robert's giving me a sad look. Shit. Did I hurt him? What did I do?

"It's special to me," he says quietly.

I feel like I've just had a patch of skin and muscle removed, exposing the bone underneath. That Robert has seen past the last 18 years to the hollowness of my childhood, seen what I fraud of a person I am, pretending to be normal and worthwhile and well-adjusted when I discount and forget my own birthday.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, averting my eyes.

Then I lean over and blow the candle out, eyes slipping shut at the critical moment. My wish is fleeting and wordless - long, happy life for Amanda, to banish the sorrow from Robert's eyes - and then Robert's holding a chocolate-covered strawberry to my lips. Blushing, I let him feed it to me and manfully restrain myself from licking his fingers.

Turnabout being fair play, I feed him one and grin as he blushes slightly. His arm slips around my waist again and we go back to cuddling, feeding each other strawberries and then I rest my head on his shoulder and let him feed me bites of the tartlet until the plate holds only pastry flakes, strawberry tops, and the silver candle.

"This was a wonderful birthday present," I say softly. "Thank you, Rob."

"You're welcome," he murmurs. "Ready to go?"

Sighing, I sit up straight. "Yeah. Still got things I want to do before trivia..." The sentence trails off. It's my _birthday_ , and I forgot, but somehow Robert knew. Amanda must have told him. Did she tell anyone else? If no one else knows, do I want them to? "I need to send a text."

Robert watches, Concerned Italian Prince With Tousled Hair, while I send a group text to Mat, Brian, and Hugo.

From Jack: HEY, DID AMANDA MENTION ANYTHING SPECIAL ABOUT TODAY?

Hugo: NOT THAT I RECALL.

Mat: NOT TO ME, WHY?

Brian: IS THERE SOMETHING SPECIAL ABOUT TODAY?

"I don't know if I want to go to trivia night or not," I tell Robert. "If I do, would you want to come with me? Or do you have something else planned for tonight?"

"I don't have anything planned. I don't know if trivia and cheese is really my thing, though."

He looks uncomfortable, and I don't blame him. If his clean-shaven state isn't going to be the new status quo, then he wouldn't want to be seen sans stubble and it's still...not _him_ , so seeing me not completely comfortable with him isn't something I'm eager for, either. But then what _do_ I want to do with the afternoon-slash-evening? More movies, more quiet walks in the woods?

...woods...

"How do you feel about campfire dinner?" I ask Robert.

The slow smile makes me melt, holy shit, Italian prince with tousled hair, help, I'm dead.

"If it will make you happy," he says softly, "then I'm all for it."

From Jack: BEEN SO FOCUSED ON MANDA'S PARTY THAT I FORGOT IT'S MY BIRTHDAY. OKAY IF I SKIP TRIVIA TO GO FISHING?

Brian: YOU CAN BORROW MY GEAR IF YOU WANT!

Mat: AW MAN, HAPPY BIRTHDAY! BRING A THERMOS AND I'LL FILL IT WITH CHAI ANTWOORD.

Hugo: YOU...FORGOT...GO FISH, HAVE FUN. YOU CLEARLY NEED THE BREAK!

From Jack: THANKS GUYS. GOOD LUCK & SEE YOU AT THE PARTY IF NOT BEFORE!

" _Now_ I'm ready to go."

Robert lays a wad of bills on the table, slides out of the booth, and _offers me his arm_. Blushing, I take it and let him lead me out, the Italian's prince's arm candy, and I don't care in the slightest. He flags down a taxi, we climb in, and the ride back to the cul-de-sac is comfortably silent.

 

* * *

 

We take Robert's truck, him driving while I navigate by Brian's directions, two folding chairs rattling in the truck's bed along with a cooler, my picnic basket, my camping backpack, and some of Brian's fishing gear. Eventually, we come out onto the shore of a little lake. There's enough time to get a fire started and the rest of the camp set up before it's late enough for the fish to start biting. We spend a quiet hour fishing from the dock and actually catch a few, although only one of them is big enough to keep.

It's very comfortable, sitting there side by side, talking about everything and nothing and slowly getting accustomed to seeing my scruffy, squishy Robert without stubble. By the time we're ready to pack it in and cook dinner, he looks like _Robert_ again and he's still unexpectedly attractive, but looking at pictures on my phone ("When did you take that? I was sleeping!") confirms that I like him better _not_ clean-shaven.

Robert watches as I clean the fish and put it on to cook, quietly impressed with how comfortable I am turning a dead fish into an entree, but he's still relieved when I take foil-wrapped packets out of the cooler and set them in the coals to bake.

"Got a cake in one of those?" he asks, half teasing and half serious as I join him on the log we found by the remains of someone else's fire pit.

I shake my head. "Never really did cake for my birthday. Not traditional cake, anyway. But I've got cheesecake and sliced strawberries and chocolate sauce and that's even better, as far as I'm concerned."

"And that's what counts," Robert says warmly, relaxing. "Um...is it Disney-safe if I feed that to you?"

"If it's not, it's too late," I point out. "Remember lunch?"

Robert blushes. "I got...carried away."

"Rob..." I take his hand and run my thumb over his knuckles. "It's not about arbitrary rules and some acts being allowed and others being forbidden. It's about what _you're_ comfortable with, and what you're _not_ comfortable with."

He shudders slightly. "I'm...I don't always think I should be trusted to make those decisions for myself."

"But you're the only one who _can_ ," I say gently. "I can't tell you what you're comfortable with. No one can. It's up to you to look at how you feel and say _yes, this feels good_ or _no, I don't feel good doing this_."

He shifts closer to me and presses his face against my shoulder. "That's the problem, though. Things that feel good at first make me feel bad later."

I hug him. "Do you feel bad about lunch? It's been a couple of hours."

A few minutes pass in silence broken only by the snap-crackle of the fire.

"No," he says finally. "But I'm worried that I'm leading you on, promising things I can't deliver yet."

"Allow six to eight weeks for delivery?" I joke lightly, making him laugh.

"More like six to eight months. I'm backordered," he says, sitting up.

I smile at him. "I'm willing to wait. Good things take time."

He smiles back, scruffy Italian prince, attractive villain being seduced to the good side by the handsome prince. "Does that include dinner?"

"Yes, but we've only got another few minutes to wait there. Unless you _want_ your potatoes to be raw in the middle. I need to flip the fish, though."

Ten minutes later, we're eating steak, potatoes, mixed rough-chopped vegetables, and pan-fried trout off of picnic plates. The cooler has been repurposed into a table while we sit cross-legged on the blanket and toast each other with bottles of Coke. Then we fill picnic bowls with strawberries and chocolate-drizzled cheesecake and sit on the dock, listening to waves lapping while the sun slips towards the horizon. It's close to an hour later before we finally stir to pack everything back up and make sure the fire is good and dead.

The drive back is quiet, the sun setting while we're on the road. I take my phone off  'do not disturb' once we see the lights of Maple Bay, and immediately have to sort through a small flood of texts. The trivia crew opted to go out for pizza with Ernest and Amanda. Craig sent birthday wishes reminding me to do something good for myself and then congratulating me later on actually doing so. Damien sent me more formal birthday wishes and the reassurance that he will not inflict a Victorian cake on me unless I request it, since Craig informed him that I don't make a huge fuss over the day. The pizza crew held a skee-ball competition and Amanda won, she has a goldfish now. Amanda gave the goldfish to Daisy, who's making plans for an elaborate tank where it can grow big and strong.

Robert laughs at that last one. "That is the luckiest fish. It's gonna live for _years_ and wind up with a fishy paradise."

I text Brian thanks for the use of his gear and congratulations on Daisy's fish give him a rough estimate of when we'll be by to return his things. It's another quiet half hour before we pull into the cul-de-sac, and Robert waits in the truck while I hand Brian his poles and tackle box.

"Were they biting?" Brian asks.

"Threw back three or four little ones, but I managed to reel in one big enough to cook." I show him pictures of our dinner, before and after cleaning, and he whistles.

"Nice job! Makes me want to go fishing for _my_ birthday!"

"You can count me and Amanda and Robert in," I tell him. "But I should go get the rest of my stuff out of his truck."

Brian gives me a birthday hug before he lets me go. It's surprisingly comforting.

Robert helps me unload various things, then he gives me a hug, too. "Happy birthday," he mutters.

"It was, thanks to you," I tell him, hugging back. "See you in the morning?"

Scruffy Italian prince smiling at me, help. "You know it. Sleep well, Jack."

"You too, Rob."

Absolutely fucking smitten, I watch him climb back into his truck and back out of the driveway. Amanda's waiting to hug me when I get inside, and I let her tell me all about the pizza adventures while I wash the picnic dishes and utensils. I tell her a little about my day, but not how fancy lunch was or how good Robert looked in that suit. When I go to bed, half of me is thinking about the graduation ceremony tomorrow while the other half is wondering if a goatee would get me the best of both worlds - the Italian prince giving me sensual scratchy kisses.


	11. Graduation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yay, Amanda's graduated! Double yay, surprise graduation party in the back yard! "But wait," you may be saying to yourself. "The game ends there. We've just started the second half of the fic. What's happening?"
> 
> Buckle up, kids. We're going on a feels trip. XD

Robert and I get a few odd looks as we file past other parents and take a pair of seats roughly across from where Amanda's likely to be perched in the bleachers once the seniors file out. Robert's got a reassuring amount of scruff back, but I think it's going to be another day or two before he's back to being scruffy. We chat about tomorrow's party preparations while waiting, and eventually the teachers file in to take their seats in the front row. I see Hugo, he sees me, we give each other little waves. Then the band starts playing, and the seniors file out. I guessed _almost_ right, and Amanda's just a little to the side of where I thought she'd be. She gives me an excited, nervous pair of finger guns as she sits down.

Naturally, there's what feels like endless speeches to sit through. Then, finally, the seniors stand to file past and get their diplomas...or at least, the official cases for their diplomas. I wonder if Amanda's regretting having my surname instead of her mother's, but Ana was adamant about taking my name when we got married, so that's the one on the birth certificate. I snap a picture as my little girl gets her diploma case, and she beams as she follows her classmates and sits back down. Then there's even _more_ speeches, and finally the band starts up again and the students file back off the bleachers and into the cafeteria where they'll be handing in their rented gowns in exchange for their _actual_ diplomas.

Knowing that it's going to be a madhouse in there, Robert and I stay on the field and chat with Hugo, waiting for Amanda to finish her exchange and come to us. After several minutes she does, rocketing out of the throng with her diploma in one hand and her cap in the other to slam straight into me for the most enthusiastic hug I've ever gotten in my life. Robert and Hugo, having wisely stepped out of the way, give me enough room to spread my arms and brace for impact.

"I'm so proud of you, sweetie!"

"I did it, Dad, I did it!"

The hug lasts a minute or two, both of us just slightly incoherent in our excited babble, before she pulls back.

"Now what?"

It's a few hours until dinner, and another hour or two after that for the party.

"Ice cream," Robert announces.

It's a good idea, so we make our good-byes to Hugo and pile into the car. Robert knows about an actual ice cream parlor, and we gorge ourselves on loaded sundaes before heading back to watch a movie and digest until it's time to make the pizza. Dinner is warm, simmering with pride, and then Amanda throws on different clothes and dashes outside to meet her ride to the graduation party.

"So..." Robert says as we watch her climb into the car. "She made up with the bitchy friends?"

"Told them they had a choice," I confirm. "They chose to finish the year as friends instead of leaving for college with their friendship in ruins."

He snorts. "Good choice. You did a good job raising her, Jack."

"Val coming to the party?"

"Yeah."

"Nervous?"

He lets out a humorless laugh. "Can I use your backyard for a few minutes before I answer that?"

I slide an arm around his waist and lean my head against his shoulder. "Can I join you?"

Robert turns and hugs me. "Of course. Even if it _weren't_ your yard."

Chuckling, we make our way out into the back yard to sit on the bench under the cherry tree.

 

* * *

 

Friday is a frantic rush of preparing things and then hiding them while Amanda's out with her friends. Friday night is a comfortable, lazy movie night that _happens_ to go a little late and results in Robert sleeping on the couch. Saturday morning, we wake up to donuts and donut-shop coffee. It's a lazy morning. I casually suggest doing burgers on the grill for lunch, something Amanda is all for, but alas...we have no burger buns.

I send Amanda to the store for buns.

The instant she's gone, texts start flying. Brian pushes his heated grill down the street and into the backyard. Damien comes over with the ice cream cake and the icebox shortcake. Mat hustles music equipment from his garage to my yard. Craig brings the tables, Joseph brings the burners, Hugo brings the pans of mac 'n cheese. Everyone scrambles to get everything out of hiding - the tray of fruit in Robert's fridge, the cold drinks, the cooler full of ice, bowls of chips and plates of cookies - and set up before Amanda comes back.

Faintly, I can hear the car pull up. Through the open back door, I can hear the front door open.

"Dad? I got the buns!"

"I'm in the back yard," I yell, leaning into the kitchen. "Just bring them out here!"

Everyone clusters around the back door, just barely out of sight, and I let it close behind me as I join them. The instant it opens, we all lunge into view and shout SURPRISE!!

"Wh- Dad?" Amanda looks at me, startled and a little betrayed.

"You told me not to make a big deal," I say, stepping forward, "but you seem to have forgotten that my entire mission in life is to make a big deal out of your accomplishments, so consider this _your_ graduation party." I take another step forward and hug my shell-shocked daughter. "Surprise, sweetie!"

"Dad!" she hisses into my shoulder. "Everyone's here!"

"Well, yeah. Everyone wanted to come and support you," I tell her quietly before stepping away.

Amanda takes a look around, sizing up the food and surveying the party-scape. "Is that...artisanal mac 'n cheese?"

"And an ice cream cake," Hugo announces. "The good kind, with the crunchies in the middle."

"Your father's icebox shortcake," Damien adds.

"Burgers already on the grill," Brian pipes up proudly. "Hot dogs, too."

She looks around at everyone. "I...don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything, sweetie." I give her a kiss on the head. "Just enjoy yourself."

Amanda hesitates a few seconds, then darts off to be the first one into...probably most of the food, to be honest. Everyone else starts milling around, following her lead while Brian goes to check on the burgers. I stand there, beaming, watching my little victory before a sound behind me makes me turn, and _holy shit_ there's an angry-looking woman _right behind me_. I'm not sure which aspect of her is most intimidating: the fishnets and pointy-heeled leather boots, the dramatic black overcoat, the long, black nails, the jewelry made entirely of big, golden spikes, or the way the entire ensemble combines with her expression to scream _executive producer whose time you are wasting_.

Is there some Homeowner's Association no one told me about that I forgot to join and I'm breaking the rules of?

"Hi," I say, trying not to sound nervous. "I don't think we've met...?"

Her expression shifts to something that makes me think she sees a stain on her pristine white carpet, and I'm the stain.

"Oh, we've met," she says in a low, smoky voice dripping with derision. "Years ago. And I'm here for my revenge."

I'm halfway through a review of my life to see who I might have pissed off when I remember that Val is supposed to be coming to the party.

"You must be Robert's daughter." I give her a warm smile. "I'm Jack, Amanda's father. Nice to meet you."

"A pleasure," she says politely.

I gesture her to the backyard proper. "I'm glad you could make it."

"Yeah, well, my old man promised there would be free food, so that's kinda hard to pass up." She flashes me a smile. "Kidding. I've gotten pretty fond of Amanda in the last several weeks, and I wanted to meet her _and_ her father face to face."

"Well, whatever the reason, I'm glad you're here."

Val gives me a serious, contemplative look. "I know we just met, but can I get real with you for a sec?"

My eyebrows arch in surprise. "Of course."

"My old man's a real closed book, you know? Me and him, we got a long way to go. You don't erase decades of neglect in a few weeks, but..." She drifts off, scanning the crowd. Following her gaze, I think she's looking at Robert, who's got his arm over Amanda's shoulder and seems to be giving her tag-team advice with Mary. "He swallowed his pride and reached out to me. And he's been...better. A _lot_ better. He wouldn't have done that on his own, and Amanda says you've adopted him, so whatever you said or did? Thank you. I'd given up on ever having a father I could be in the same room with and not want to punch. He's still got a long way to go before I can forgive him, but now I have hope that someday, I'll actually _want_ to be around him."

"My dad was worse," I say quietly, not looking at her. "He got himself killed just before I turned eighteen. When Robert found out...that was the turning point. He didn't want to be anything like my father. I'm glad things are getting better between you. Robert means a lot to me."

Val smiles at me, a small, dry thing. "We don't talk a lot, but you mean a lot to him, too. I'm...glad he has a friend who'll put up with his shit and call his bull. Keep an eye on him for me, okay? Or else," she adds in a growl.

"Or else what?"

"That's all I've got," she confesses. "Just _or else_."

As we laugh, Amanda runs up and Val hugs her.

"Hey, kiddo, heard you made it to the big leagues!"

Amanda blushes slightly. "Well, I don't know about _that_. Maybe the middle leagues? Also _wow_ , you look so much cooler than I pictured you!"

Val's staring pointedly at...Robert, who stops approaching and veers off to pile fruit on a plate. "Hey, Manda, my old man said he shaved. Was he pulling my leg?"

"Nope." Amanda grins. "Didn't see him the day of, but the morning after his stubble was _way_ shorter and Dad kept shooting him weird looks." She directs the grin at me. "I think Dad _likes_ him scruffy."

My blush speaks for itself, and Val chuckles.

"Alright. I'll let that slide."

"And I," I tell them, "am going to steal that plate of fruit and actually enjoy my little surprise party and let you two chat."

"Catch ya around, Pops," Amanda chirps.

Robert holds out the plate of fruit as I approach. It's all my favorites.

"Wanted to make sure you got some," he says softly as I accept it.

"Thanks, Rob." I smile at him, and some of his tension evaporates.

We turn away from our daughters and go over to the table with burger fixings, where Brian's setting down a plate of hot hamburger patties. Robert assembles one for me at my direction, takes a bite out of his, and puts them both on the same plate. We go over to another table to sit and eat.

"I can hear the bottle calling," he mutters once we're seated. "All I can think of is how much of a fuckup I am. That I shouldn't even try, I should just drown myself in booze."

"It's not that bad," I tell him soothingly. "Val was telling me that you've gotten a _lot_ better, and she asked me to keep an eye on you."

Robert gives me a lopsided grin. "Did she threaten physical violence?"

"Uh...I'm not sure. She said _or else,_ but she also said she didn't have a threat past _or else_."

He chuckles. "That's my girl. Hey, I'm gonna take my burger into the corner of the yard and smoke a clove, if that's okay."

"Of course," I tell him, smiling.

As soon as he stands up, Brian takes his seat with a burger of his own.

"Good party," he says heartily. "Thanks for letting me help plan it!"

"Thanks for _helping_ plan it, _and_ for grilling," I counter.

He laughs. "I've wanted the chance ever since Joseph started his cul-de-sac cookouts. How's the burger?"

"Even better than Joseph's," I tell him. "I don't know what your secret is, but as long as you keep grilling like this, I don't care."

That makes him laugh even harder, and he toasts me with a can of soda.

I circulate for a while, nibbling and chatting. Calling Craig to mediate when I see one of his girls going up to the ice cream cake for a third time, and I realize I'm not sure who got the first two pieces. Joseph tells me it looks like I've settled into the neighborhood nicely. I cheerfully tell him I couldn't ask for a better cul-de-sac and make neutral noises when he mentions seeing me at more church events.

Note to self: set up fishing weekend with Brian as soon as possible.

"And maybe if you aren't doing anything later we could...hang out sometime," he finishes, stepping into my personal space.

I chuckle. "I'll have to see. I promised Craig I'd try to help out with his business. Excuse me," I say, sidling off to the mac 'n cheese, where Hugo's standing. "Hey, man, give me some of that!" I hold out my burger plate and Hugo scoops some onto it. 

"The perfect cheddar-to-mac ratio," he says proudly.

"It smells amazing." I grab a fork and take a bite. "Mmmm."

Hugo grins. "Coming from a country boy, that's high praise," he teases.

I swallow. "We didn't have fancy cheeses in the country. So, I hear you and Ernest got a dog?"

"Yeah, a furry mountain named Duchess Cordelia. She broke out of the animal shelter and _into our home_ , can you believe that? But taking care of her has given Ernest some desperately-needed focus for his energy, and we're...doing better."

"I'm so glad to hear that!"

Mat wanders up for mac 'n cheese. "Glad to hear what?"

"We have a dog," Hugo says.

"Oh..." Mat looks uncomfortable. "I thought you were talking about the music and was going to tell you all about the band."

I gesture at his plate. "Fill 'er up and tell me about the band."

Mat grins and we make our way to a table where he tells me about the bands and the songs he picked to play. After a few minutes, Damien joins us with a bowl of icebox shortcake. The music discussion goes in a different direction entirely, Mat and Damien comparing bands with Victorian tastes, and I excuse myself to grab some dessert before it melts. As I'm cutting myself a piece of ice cream cake and loading the rest of the plate with strawberries and whipped cream, I can see Robert and Val standing in the corner, but they don't seem to be talking. They're not even looking at each other, they're standing back to back and...texting?

Oh well. It's real-time communication, at least.

"Your girl's pretty sharp," Mary says from apparently having snuck up behind me.

"Ah...thank you?"

She snorts. "Chill out, cowboy. No claws today. Regardless of how I feel about rugrats, raising one into an intelligent, grounded young woman is an accomplishment and I respect that you managed to do it. Amanda's lucky to have you for a father."

Aaand I'm blushing. "Thanks, Mary. You know, if you ever need to talk..."

"I know where you live," she says dryly. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go trade stories with her." She points at Val with her chin.

The party continues, pretty average for a party. When it starts to get towards dusk, people gather their dishes and fill plates with leftovers and wander out with hugs and more congratulations for Amanda. Mat makes a few trips, packing up his music things, and Craig promises he'll be back for the tables tomorrow. Eventually, the only guests left are Robert and Val, and she informs me she's abducting my daughter for the rest of the evening. I say okay, Amanda and I exchange 'I love you', and then I wander over to join Robert on the bench under the cherry tree.

"Good party," he says quietly, sliding an arm around my waist.

I lean against him, head on his shoulder. "Thanks. I'm exhausted, though."

He nuzzles my hair briefly. "Hey, no blood was spilled. That's always a plus." He pauses while I laugh softly. "Got a chance to talk to Val. Well, over text, but still."

"I saw. How'd it go?"

"She still won't talk to me directly, but she was impressed that I was sober for the whole afternoon. Verifying Amanda's reports. And she said she'd give me a pass on shaving since I was doing it for you. Thinks it's cute. We're gonna keep trading voicemails. It's...progress."

I take his free hand and squeeze gently. "I'm proud of you, Rob."

"Don't be too proud of me yet," he says darkly. "I can't promise that I won't hit the bottle hard once I get home. Facing Val _and_ Joseph sober was _not_ easy and I'm out of cloves."

"Is there anything I could do that would help you de-stress?"

For a moment, he freezes. "Not that wouldn't make me feel worse in the morning."

"Okay." I squeeze his hand again. "Want me to keep you company? Or to watch a movie on my couch and spend the night?"

His arm tightens around me and he shudders. "I want to do something self-destructive to prove that I _am_ as bad as I think I am, that everyone telling me I'm not a piece of trash is wrong, but I know it will only make me feel worse in the morning. I don't know what to do, Jack. I'm sorry I'm such a fuckup."

"You know what I do when I feel like a fuckup?" I ask softly. "I clean. And I bake."

"You're not a fuckup. You're the handsome prince. I'm the villain."

"Which one?"

Robert straightens and looks at me. "What?"

I sit up to look back at him. "Which Disney Villain are you?"

He thinks about it. Then he thinks about it some more. Helpfully, I suggest some. He shoots them down for various reasons - "I would never wear that", "I wouldn't hurt a child", "I'm not _that_ big of a dick", and so forth. It turns into a discussion of Disney villains, what they've done, what they haven't done, and what Robert's done. We move inside once the sun sets, settling on the couch after a stopover in the kitchen while I make two mugs of hot cocoa.

"I guess I'm more of an anti-hero," he says finally, sipping at his mug and licking whipped cream off his upper lip. "I'm not actively malicious, I'm just...a self-centered ass. But not a _huge_ one, you know?"

"So you're Kuzco?" I grin at him. "Yay, I'm a llama again! ...wait." It starts brightly and ends in a deadpan.

Robert giggles. "Does that make you Pacha?"

"Well, I do have a way with kids..."

"...and you did come from a tiny little nowhere town."

"I also know my way around the wilderness."

"And you're too damn forgiving. You know what? We need to watch that. There were some great lines in that movie."

Robert looks a lot better, and I smile at him. "You know Kuzco was the prince in that movie, right?"

Slowly, Robert blushes.

 

* * *

 

The rest of June proceeds pretty much the way it started, only with Amanda taking summer courses and really giving them her best effort. Screwing around with high school assignments is one thing, but she's _painfully_ aware of how much each course would cost at Horne and determined to do her part by acing them for much cheaper at the community college and then transferring the credits.

Craig hooks me up with a business laptop and teaches me some of the things that are pretty simple, just time-consuming and need a human eye. The twins spend every other week with their mother now that it's summer, which gives him time to do things for himself. Fishing weekends with him, Brian, and Robert while Amanda watches Daisy start happening pretty regularly, just four men and a baby out in nature fishing and cooking on a campfire.

June slides into July with only the neighborhood cookout to make a ripple. Robert doesn't attend - spending the week out of town with Val, he says, but he texts me later to tell me he's in a hotel across town. I visit him a few times, just spending quiet time together in the room or in a nearby park where he drinks little bottles of liquor and smokes cloves. Weirdly, despite the summer heat, Joseph wore that blue sweater over his shoulders for most of the week and then stopped. I mention it to Robert, but he doesn't say anything.

Sunday nights are still spent at Jim and Kim's with Mary. Robert tells me that it's more about supporting Mary than it is about him getting drunk, and slowly between the two of them it comes out that Joseph is in denial about being gay but Mary, despite all her acting out and every reason not to, still loves him. The acting out, she confesses while Robert's in the bathroom, is to make Joseph so angry that he can keep it up and perform his marital duties. She's also been telling him that Robert and I have an _incredibly_ active sex life because my predatory sense was right, Joseph _is_ interested in me. Another week, she confesses drunkenly that she's hard on me because I'm everything she thought her husband was, and _that_ aspect of her now makes sense. I still participate in church youth activities and events that allow me to bake - my mini pies are a _huge_ hit - but I make sure to tell Joseph _all about_ the things I do with Rob. When he's slept over, how much I love having someone else to cook breakfast for, how cozy it is when he joins us for dinner, the long walks together, everything that I make sound saccharine and innocent but which could be hiding sexual exploits.

Robert cautiously joins my team for trivia night, making it us and Hugo against Brian, Mat, and Daisy, and Robert's actually good at some categories although he says he's just there for the cheese and wine. He goes the whole way with me and Craig when he jogs with us in the mornings, although he only does that two or three times a week. We have tea with Damien and Mary to discuss the walking dog-adoption advertisement idea, and they love it. Damien was _extremely_ nervous about confessing that he wasn't a Victorian Goth 100% of the time, but Robert pointed out that there's much worse things to be half the time than "normal and boring" and I added that no flower blooms _all_ the time, and that seemed to put things in perspective for him.

We start walking dogs in the afternoon, when people are coming home from work, with pre-printed doggie profiles and adoption forms in our pockets. Mary tells us that adoptions are definitely up, and the number of people who come in with adoption forms we've handed them is heartwarming. She also mentions that a couple who "smell like money" have been asking about a Boston terrier named Betsy, and were asking about her eyes and discussing surgeons. For some reason, this sets Robert on edge but all he says is if Mary thinks Betsy would be happy, then he gives his blessing. He lights a clove as soon as we leave, and informs me that he needs to get drunk tonight. I give him a brief hug, and he chain-smokes cloves all the way back to my house. After dinner, we go over to his house and I watch, feeling helpless, as he hits a bottle hard and fast. Thankfully, he puts it aside and lets me get him water, but then he slumps against me and starts to cry.

Betsy, it turns out, has juvenile cataracts that make her nearly unadoptable because she needs either constant supervision or surgery. Robert's fostered her in the past, for a few days or a week, to give her a new lease at the shelter. She's the sweetest dog, he informs me tearfully, but he can't keep her because he's afraid he'll accidentally let her get into something she shouldn't while he's...not at his best. I do what I can to comfort him, but it's a valid concern and we both know it. He doesn't want to sleep on my couch that night. He wants to be alone and suffer, but he apologizes to me before he starts to hit the bottle again because he knows I'm going to worry. I put him to bed after another cup of water and sit there, stroking his hair, until he's fallen asleep. The next morning, he's passed out on my couch when I get up to jog with Craig. Amanda nearly tears up when I told her _why_ he was drunk last night, and then disappears into her room. Probably to text Val ad tell her what a softie her old man is sometimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On Betsy: the background art of Robert's house only vaguely suggests a dog lives there, and it's not a safe environment for a dog at all. There's no mention of a dog on any of the booty-call "dates". So I headcanoned that Robert takes her for a few days when she's been at the shelter too long and is in danger of being put down...or when he's in a bad depressive slump and needs something to focus on that's not his own misery, Mary tells him that Betsy's in danger of being put down and he spends a week or so focusing on the pupple.


	12. Don't let me go back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robert has a sobering realization. And no, I'm not apologizing for that pun.

On a lazy late-July afternoon, while we're folding a load of clean towels, Robert asks if we can make cookies when we're done. Partially to surprise Amanda when she comes home from class, but mostly because he wants cookies. I'm a sap who thinks that's adorable, so I gather the stack of folded towels and tell him to check the pantry for chocolate chips while I put them away.

I'm hanging fresh towels in the bathroom when Robert storms in, furious, with a bottle in his hand. It's...wow, how many weeks ago did I buy that whiskey and then forget about it? Sometime in May?

"What the _fuck_ is this doing here?" he demands, brandishing the bottle at me. "Don't you _dare_ tell me you started drinking, Jack!"

"Of course not," I protest.

"Then why-"

Well, I thought that would have been obvious. "I got it for you."

That stops him dead. His eyes widen. "You..."

"I felt bad not having anything stronger than juice to offer you," I explain sheepishly. But, of course, he started bringing his own and then it was a moot point.

"No..." he looks torn between horror and fury. "No. NO! Damn it, Jack, NO! You're not..." Instead of telling me what I'm not, he opens the bottle and starts pouring it into the toilet.

"Robert-"

"God DAMN it, Jack, NO!" Blackly furious, he hurls the bottle past the shower curtain and into the tub, where it shatters. "I don't want to see this shit in your house again," he snarls.

"Robert..." I trail off, unsure what exactly I did wrong but terrified anyway, the words drying up in my throat.

"Don't. Just...don't. Leave me alone. I don't want to even _look_ at you right now."

And before I can properly register what just happened, he's stormed out.

Numb, I flush the toilet and clean broken glass out of the tub before the world goes grey.

Some time later, a text from Amanda startles me back into the world. She's picking up burritos on the way home from class and wants to know what I want in mine. I try to make my thoughts move but all I can think of is how _angry_ Robert looked and the fear that somehow, I fucked everything up.

I'm sitting on the couch eating a burrito, although I can't taste a thing. The burrito is my whole world. I sit on the couch and watch my hands when it's gone.

"I'm gonna do my homework, Dad." Amanda's voice. "You should take a nap."

A nap. Not-thinking. That sounds good. I kick my shoes off and stretch out in the recliner.

 

* * *

 

It's eleven at night when I get a text from Robert, followed quickly by two more texts, and sit up frantically to check them.

JACK

JACK HELP

I DON'T WANT TO BE ALONE

As I'm typing out a response asking where he is, another one comes in.

I'M SORRY

I add a second question mark to my text and hit send, holding my breath. Each moment feels like an eternity until the reply pops up.

BEDROOM

I'm out of the house in seconds, without bothering to either put on shoes or lock the door, sprinting down the sidewalk and worried about what I'm going to find. The door is unlocked, and I shuffle carefully through the darkened house, not wanting to fall on my face coming to Robert's rescue because I tripped on dirty clothes or empty bottles. It's hard to see him, even with my eyes adjusted to the darkness, because he's not where I expected him to be. He's on the floor, wedged between the bedside table and the wall by the closet, holding something to his chest and crying.

Oh my god, he's crying.

I have to shove things out of the way and sit partially in the closet to get on the floor next to him, but I do and I pull him into a hug, my cheek on the top of his head. It's a few minutes before his breathing evens out.

"You okay?" I ask softly, not sure if he's even still awake. He's pretty drunk.

"No," he whispers back. "I'm a mess. A failure. My daughter won't talk to me. My wife..."

He shifts, showing me the picture he's had clutched to his chest. A beautiful dark-skinned woman beams up at us, holding a robin's egg blue sweater up to her chest while a girl who looks a lot like Amanda smiles at her in delight. It must be Christmas, to judge by the decorations in the background and the torn wrapping paper on the box in the woman's lap.

"We moved here for a fresh start. Get away from...things. From my drinking. I was supposed to clean up my act. I never did. I never became the man she deserved." He starts crying again. "Don't let me go back to that, Jack. Please."

Things come together. "You want to stop drinking entirely."

Robert nods against my chest. I hug him tighter. No wonder he was so upset at what I'm sure looked like me enabling his drinking.

"Whatever you need, I'm here for you. You know that."

He nods again.

"Do you want help getting all the liquor out of your house?"

"No need. Drank it all."

Well, that's one way of dealing with it. I stroke his hair a little. "Okay. Let's get some water into you, then."

"Yeah." Robert sighs, but he doesn't move. "You're a good man, Jack. Good friend. Good father. Bet you were a better husband than me."

I think of Mary for a moment, and Joseph trying to be perceived as the best while ignoring reality. "It's not about better, Rob," I murmur. "It's about doing the best you can for the ones you love."

"My best is still crap," he mutters.

Something sour climbs my throat, and I swallow it back down. "You want to stop drinking," I tell him in a quiet voice. "That's better than my dad ever did."

"Your dad was a dick."

It still hurts to think of him in any negative way after all his conditioning, but...it's the truth. "Yeah. He was."

"You deserved better."

My throat closes up; I can't answer that.

"Help me up?"

Awkwardly, we get to our feet and I settle Robert on his couch with a plastic tumbler of water, waiting until he's drunk at least half of it before asking, "Are you going to be okay tonight?"

He gives me a haunted look. "I don't know."

That's a no. "Your couch, or mine?"

"Yours." Robert shudders.

I suspected as much. Robert finishes the water at my urging and leans on me as we make our way down the sidewalk and into my living room. I get him settled on the couch, pillow and blankets from the linen closet, big mixing bowl on the floor, aspirin and more water in reach. He gives me a grateful, if unfocused, look and then slips into unconsciousness. Amanda's watching from the hall when I stand up. I gesture her further back and join her.

"Sorry, sweetie, didn't mean to wake you up."

She gives Robert a worried look. "Is Knife Dad okay?"

I hug her; she hugs back a little desperately.

"You know how they say the first step is admitting you have a problem?"

She nods. "Mm-hmm?"

"The second step is asking for help. Robert's going cold turkey, and we're going to help him. Mostly me, because you still have classes."

"And by help him..."

"I'm prepared to drop anything I'm doing at a moment's notice if he needs company or distraction, no matter what or when that is."

She pulls away and gives me an intent look. "You... _like_ him...don't you?"

"I..."

"More than Mom."

"...uh..."

"Daaaaad..." she rolls her eyes and smiles at me, looking so much like Ana at her age that it brings tears to my eyes. "You deserve to be happy. Robert makes you happy. I know you only married Mom for me. All I ask is that I get to be at least the flower girl when you marry him."

"Amanda Ann!" I chide as best I can through blushing and embarrassed laughter. "We're not even dating!"

"Yet," she points out. "I _have_ eyes, Dad. It's just a matter of time."

There's nothing I can really say to that, so I pull Melodramatic Dad and imperiously command her back to bed.

 

* * *

 

Robert looks like death warmed over the next day, which is only to be expected. I start him off with aspirin and apple juice and dry toast, with a bendy straw in the apple juice. He doesn't even sit up until he's done with the first course of breakfast, and once he's upright, he looks like he wishes he weren't. I sit next to him and gently urge him to lean against me.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you," he says in a rusty voice. "You didn't deserve that, and I know you forgive me but I'm still sorry."

With 'I forgive you' on my lips, I close my mouth and just hug him a little tighter.

"Manda said you locked up hard. Told me whatever I did, I needed to fix it. I realized I was doing to you what I did to Marilyn. Hated myself. Was already drunk but started drinking harder because fuck, I'm trash, may as well roll in it. But then I realized that was the problem. Moderation won't work with me. Eventually, I'll remember what a horrible person I am and try to drown myself. It's all or nothing, Jack, and you're my all so that leaves nothing."

"Rob..."  I turn and pull him down to lay his head on my chest and for a moment, I just hold him. I'm his all? That makes me feel giddy _and_ humbled. "I'd forgotten the bottle was there. I got it.... _weeks_ ago, probably somewhere in late April or early May, so I could offer you a shot or two with dinner. It was just hospitality, like making sure you had clean clothes to put on after a shower."

Robert sighs. "You were being nice and I fucked it up by being an asshole. Story of my life."

"Shhh." I stroke his hair a bit. "You're not alone anymore, Rob. I'm in this with you. Any time, any place, if you need help staying dry you call me. Got it?"

For a long minute, there's silence. Then, quietly, he says, "Thank you, Jack."

 

* * *

 

While Robert's showering, I send a group text to the other dads (except Joseph, who does _not_ have my number) letting them know about Robert's decision and asking them to not make a big deal out of it. One by one they text back with promises to support him without bringing it up. As the week progresses, they make good on those promises - trivia night is as cheesy as ever, but sans wine; grill lunch with Brian pairs burgers with soft drinks; graveyard picnics are washed down with sparkling white grape juice. Robert asks me to chaperone his grocery shopping, what little there is, and insists I do mine at the same time. Then he pays for both, giving me a challenging look while I raise my hands in surrender.

Sunday is...tense. The church activity I agreed to help chaperone is fairly laid-back, and fortunately located in the park. Robert lurks just inside the woods while on the field, the youths color sheets of paper with their favorite Bible stories and then glue them to balsa wood frames to make kites, which they then do their best to fly. I don't think Joseph even knows Robert's there. I get a couple of curious questions when my kite design is purely geometric, and to Joseph's chagrin, soon have a circle of inquisitive teens listening to me explaining what it was like, being married to a Muslim woman who wasn't particularly religious. He doesn't seem very happy when I tell them that I'm not religious either, but that following a religion isn't a requirement for being a good person, or even just _wanting_ to be a good person. But, of course, he can't exactly confront me about it in front of the kids.

Robert laughs when I tell him what I was talking about, and tells me how frustrated Joseph looked. We grab some take-out and spend a quiet evening with our laptops - me working for Craig, him doing something with stocks - before packing up and heading to Jim and Kim's to meet Mary. She's waiting for us in a booth, a glass of wine in front of her and two Cokes waiting for us. Robert slides in first as a silent statement that he's not going to secretly get himself something alcoholic while getting drinks because I'll be getting the drinks, and goes to take a sip of his Coke but stops and hands it to me.

I can smell the whiskey in it. 

"I'll get you another one," I tell him. "Vanilla okay?"

"Have him throw in a shot of grenadine," he says, and I nod.

Neil gives me a funny look as I walk up holding the glass. "Something wrong, Jack?"

"Rob's going sober," I say quietly. "Could I get a vanilla Coke for me and one with a shot of grenadine for him?"

"This may sound weird..." He slides the spiked drink down to a different regular. "...but good on him. Vanilla and grenadine coming right up."

He pours syrups into a pair of glasses and then fills them with Coke. I thank him and take them back to the table, where Mary looks like she's too sober for whatever Robert just said.

"It's not _fair_ ," she huffs. "How come _you_ get the unicorn and I get the ass with a horn strapped to its head?"

Robert pauses, glass halfway to his mouth, and then puts it down and buries his face in my shoulder, laughing until he coughs. Mary looks like she wants to be annoyed, but she can't hide her smile. I give her an apologetic look.

"I just..." Robert wheezes a few times and gestures at his forehead. "The thing I gave you..."

Mary's lips twitch, and then she lays her head down on her crossed arms and laughs helplessly.

"Do I want to know?" I ask cautiously as Robert straightens up.

"Oh. Uh. Suction-cup dong."

I'm sure there's more to it than that, considering his flushed cheeks, but we sip our Cokes in silence.

"So you're forsaking the bottle," she says once the laughter has passed and been washed down with wine.

Robert gives me a shy little smile. "There's only room for one Jack Daniel in my life, and this one doesn't punish me in the morning."

I blush, like he knew I would, while Mary shakes her head.

"I can't argue with that. Just wish I could do the same."

"Mary-"

She shakes her head. "No, Jack. This is my cross to bear, but it's sweet of you to be concerned anyway."

The night continues roughly the same way our Sunday nights usually go, with the exception of Robert being _completely_ sober instead of just _mostly_ sober. We walk Mary home and watch as she makes her unsteady way up to the door and inside.

"Gonna be okay tonight?" I ask Robert quietly.

"Should be," he answers. "If not..."

"You have a key and you know where the linen closet is. Or you can call, but I might be sleepy and incoherent."

He smiles, making me melt in the cool night air. "Yeah. Good night, Jack. Sleep well. I'll see you in the morning."

"You too, Rob." I want to kiss him, _god_ how I want to kiss him. I smile instead, and see him melt just a little. "Take care. See you in the morning."

We walk to our respective homes, wave to each other from the door, and finally go inside.

 

* * *

 

The August cookout is almost anticlimactic. Damien brings some sort of fruit punch which he insists Robert try, and Hugo engages Robert in a cinema discussion, and Joseph circles around the edges giving everyone confused looks when he thinks no one's looking. The two weeks following are more hectic, with Amanda finishing her classes and submitting digital paperwork to get her credits transferred and scrambling to make sure everything is in order to go to Horne. Robert tells me he knows a guy who can get him a good deal on a solid used car, and Amanda is beside herself when he drives up in a lightly-used SUV. Then there's a flurry of packing as the day grows close, plans and preparations, and all too soon the day's arrived, and I'm standing on the curb trying not to cry as my little girl hugs me one more time, hugs Robert, and flings herself into the driver's seat with promises to text and a shouted 'I love you' before any of us break down.

Then she's disappearing down the street and Robert's hugging me to his chest, leather and cloves in my nostrils, rocking slightly and petting my hair. He leads me inside and sits me down on the couch and I cry into his shoulder until my throat hurts and I feel numb. While I'm blowing my nose and cleaning the gunk out of my eyes, he texts someone and shortly after, Carmensita knocks on the door with an iced Chai Antwoord and a shy request for an early Italian Night because her dad's craving my ravioli. Robert helps me cook, and dinner is pleasant but wrong, Amanda's absence nagging at me like a loose tooth.

When Mat and his daughter have left, I find myself hugged again and that brings me out of myself enough to clean up with Robert, and he informs me sternly that he's staying the night. I wouldn't have objected even under normal circumstances, but tonight...I don't want to be alone. I can't, I'll shatter. After Amanda texts saying she got into her hotel okay and we exchange ILU/ILU2, Robert puts me to bed on the couch and stretched out challengingly in the recliner. "You've done it for me," he says in a no-nonsense tone that makes me feel just a little more safe and protected. "Now it's my turn to do it for you."

Sleep is...hard. When morning finally comes, I'm still exhausted. Dressing for the morning jog is accomplished only because it's rote by now, and by the last homeward leg I'm feeling alert enough to remember that I won't be cooking breakfast for Manda when we finish the run. Robert steers me to the Coffee Spoon before I can think about it too hard, and we have drinks and pastries. There's a text from Amanda letting me know she's getting breakfast at the hotel and that she'll text again when she hits the road. ILU, the text says, and I blink back tears as I type I LOVE YOU TOO PANDA and hit send.

Robert asks for my help in assessing his overgrown yard, and I gratefully throw myself into that complicated mess. It's eleven before I know it, and after a pair of showers we hit a burger joint for lunch. Then it's laptop time, and Amanda texts at about five-thirty letting me know she got in okay and is checking into the hotel but she's _wicked_ stoked to be at Horne at last. Preparing and eating dinner is frequently interrupted by excited texts babbling happily about this or that as she explores her college town.

Once we're all finished eating, she calls and I put it on speaker and she confesses that it's exciting but terrifying to be on her own like this. Robert reassures her that she's doing fine and then tells her that he'd been herding me, making sure I didn't lock up, and she thanks him for that. "You can use my room while I'm gone," she says, but he nixes that. It's _her_ room, he insists, and if he's sleeping over he'll stick with the couch or my room. That gets a beat of silence while I blush, and then she squeaks out, "Really??" Robert grins at me and says he's kidding, but that later he'll text her the pic of how badly I blushed at the idea. We wrap the call up after that, Amanda going to bed early so she can start moving in as soon as the dorms open, and we do our 'I love you' ritual. There's a part of me that wants to say those words to Robert, too, once I've hung up - but I don't. I think it's kind of understood at this point, and I don't want to push him before he's ready.

Just as we're about to head to Jim and Kim's, there's a knock on the door and it's Mary with a bottle of wine.

"Thought this would be easier," she says as I wave her inside. "According to Joseph, the youths really missed you tonight." She smirks. " _He_ missed you _more_. Make plans for next weekend, because he was talking about his yacht and that's _never_ good."

I sit next to Robert, who's gone still and tense. "Is this related to the Jimmy Buffet margarita thing?"

Mary flops down into the recliner. "Oh, so he did give you that spiel?"

"You know..." I glance at Robert and take his hand reassuringly. "I got the feeling he was trying to lure me into the idea of being in a tropical paradise with him, but I told him I don't drink and I'm not one for sitting around doing nothing, especially if I was there by myself. That's when he suggested being in a tropical paradise with _someone special_ and I..." My cheeks are hot. "I kinda...thought of Robert...and had to go inside."

That gets both of them laughing, and Robert pulls me in to lean against him, his arms loosely wrapped around me.

"When was this?" Mary asks after she's calmed down and had a long sip of wine.

"Uh..." I have to think. It was my first time in the backyard, which was... "My first Monday in the house. After going bar bopping with you two and then Rob dragging me off for pizza and sneaking into a movie."

"Hey," he growls in mock-affront, "you were a very willing abductee."

"Stockholm Syndrome," I shoot back easily, smiling up at him.

Mary takes another drink and leans forward. "Are you telling me that you resisted my husband's charms because you'd already fallen for this unkempt loser?"

I scoff. "Your husband's lucky I'm not a violent man because I wanted to punch him _in the face_ halfway through our first conversation."

That sets Mary laughing again, and Robert nuzzles briefly at my hair.

"Maybe he _shouldn't_ make plans," Mary tells Robert with a fair amount of unholy glee.

Robert's arms tighten around me. "No," he growls, and he's serious this time. "No yacht."

"Seconded," I tell them. "No yacht. The first and only time I've been on the ocean was a whale-watching trip when Amanda was in sixth grade, and I got _horribly_ seasick."

There's a few beats before Robert says hesitantly, "Maybe he _shouldn't_ make plans," and Mary laughs until she cries.

"I'll leave it in Joseph's hands," I announce. "I'll decline once, warn him the second time that I got seasick, and if he asks a third time...I'll go."

Secretly, I'm kind of hoping Joseph is persistent. I know from a nasty bout of the flu several years back that fresh oranges are remarkably pleasant the second time, and in the years since, I'd learned that I'd done the _worst_ thing possible before the whale watch and had a big, oily, spicy burrito for lunch. If I eat three oranges and stuff myself with Mexican food before the trip, hopefully I can turn the experience into something horrific for Joseph while minimizing my own suffering.

The night goes more quietly and pleasantly than I'd anticipated, with ice cream floats for me and Robert and Mary working her way through the bottle while we talk and joke. At eleven, she hugs us both and asks Robert if he's walking her home.

"I can if you want," he says, "but I'm coming back here to make sure Jack sleeps."

I start to protest, but he gives me a look of _Really?_ and I close my mouth.

"You're a peach, Rob," she sighs. "Fine. Walk me home. Maybe he'll see you come back here after."

Robert glances at me.

"I'll be fine," I assure him. "Just going to brush my teeth."

He doesn't look convinced.  "Okay. I'll be right back."

Brushing my teeth goes without incident. Changing into my pajamas goes without incident. I lay a pair of PJs in the bathroom for Robert and go back to the living room just as he comes in. He smiles at me, turning me to melted chocolate, and locks the front door.

"We could do all kinds of things, and no one would be the wiser," he says in a low voice.

The parts of me that aren't melted are blushing. "But would you feel bad about them later?"

He grimaces. "Probably." Then his expression turns into a wicked smile. "Joseph doesn't need to know that, though."

I laugh. "You're horrible, and I'm no better."

"Hi, No Better," he says, grinning. "I'm Horrible."

He goes to the bathroom to change while I laugh helplessly, and then he herds me towards my bedroom.

"Sleep well, Jack," he says softly. "I'll be on the couch if you need me."

I hug him. "Thanks, Rob. You sleep well, too. I'll see you in the morning."

Sleep grabs me by the shoulders and drags me down, determined to make up for last night.

 

* * *

 

Amanda's daily texts are nice, but it's not a substitute for having her in my house and I'm looking forward to Saturday morning, when we've scheduled a nice, long call. Between Robert's decision to stay sober and my empty nest, there's a lot of texting and calling going on during the first half of the week. Sometimes it's him needing distraction to keep his mind off of the bottle; sometimes it's me that needs distraction. I busywork the _hell_ out of Craig's company, and Robert insists on setting up a stock portfolio for me so he can manage it. Nights are the worst - nearly every night, after we've gone to our respective beds, one of us calls the other and we talk for anywhere from a few minutes to an hour and a half.

Joseph catches me Wednesday afternoon, while I'm tending the yard.

"Howdy, neighbor!" he starts with the usual false cheer. "Been trying to reach you, but you're never on!"

"Yeah, sorry..." No, I'm not. "Been trying to hold things together now that Manda's off at college."

He looks sympathetic. "Empty house, huh? Sounds rough. Maybe I can distract you, if you're free this weekend."

"I don't have anything planned yet," I say slowly. "What did you have in mind?"

"I was looking to get a last summer sail in on my yacht before the weather gets cold, and you look like you could use some company. Just you, me, and the ocean. What do you say?"

Well, to be honest, it sounds surprisingly like a trap. "I'm not on real good terms with the ocean, actually." I try to make it sound apologetic.

He grins at me. "Lucky for you, I am."

"Tell that to my stomach. Haven't been on the water since Amanda's whale watch in sixth grade, and that didn't end well," I warn him.

"I'll tell the whales to back off," he jokes. "Come on. Quick trip to a nearby island. A three-hour tour."

The words echo ominously in my head. Then I realize I'm remembering the _Gilligan's Isle_ theme. Still slightly ominous...but he asked a third time.

"Okay," I say, not bothering to hide that this is a surrender. "A three-hour tour."

Joseph brightens. "Great! Meet me at the marina this Saturday at two."

"This Saturday at two," I repeat. "Got it."

As he turns back to his yard, I wonder which of us is going to regret this more.

 

* * *

 

The next evening, pizza night is...rough. I made a Hawaiian pizza, and it was good, but the last two slices haunt us until we eat them cold. Then Robert suggests an outing to Jim and Kim's, and it's not a surprise when Mary is already there. She and Robert are both amused and concerned when I tell them over soft drinks and wine about my conversation with Joseph the previous day. Mary encourages me to aim for her husband with a dismissive comment about him having clothes on the boat because he sleeps there some nights. Robert seems unhappily withdrawn, and I know that it's a struggle for him to not give in and get drunk. Whatever his history with Joseph's yacht, I don't ask. If he wants me to know, he'll tell me. Mary reassures him that I'll be fine, but while she's fetching the next round he tells me in a fierce undertone to not eat or drink anything on the yacht. I reassure him that I wouldn't be able to even if I were inclined, and he apologizes for being a paranoid wreck.

After we walk Mary home, I tug Robert into the backyard with me and sit with him on the bench under the cherry tree. For several minutes we just sit there, arms around each other and hands clasped.

"I'm still worried," he mutters, breaking the silence.

I lay my head on his shoulder. "Thank you for worrying. It feels good, knowing that you care."

Robert sighs and hugs me tighter. "Even if I'm a paranoid mess?"

"You stayed strong and didn't give in to alcohol. You've gotten a lot better, Rob, and I'm proud of you."

"You're special to me. I don't want anything bad to happen to you," he says softly, and oh god I want to kiss his neck, his jaw, anything.

"I won't say I'll be fine," I tell him softly, "because I'm going to be puking my guts out. But I doubt the trip will last more than an hour or two and if Joseph tries anything, I'll barf in his face."

Robert chuckles and rests his cheek against the top of my head. "I wish I could see that. I'd take video." He pauses while I giggle. "I know where Joseph moors. I'll be waiting when he brings you back."

But he doesn't know when we'll be back, which means- "You don't have to sit there waiting for me the whole time, Rob."

"Yes," he growls, "I _do_. If I'm not there glued to the dock waiting, I'll be getting drunk and that's _not_ what you need to deal with when you get off that thing. As soon as you get off the boat, I'll be there to take you home and fuss over you."

He would really do that? He'd wait three hours and then take me home to fuss over?

Well...now that I'm thinking about it...yes. Yes, he would, and it makes me feel _loved_ in a way I'm not sure I've experienced in the last thirty years.

"Thank you," I say quietly.

Then I yawn, and he yawns, and we both laugh.

"Time for bed, Jack," he says, releasing me with reluctance.

"Yeah. You gonna be okay?" I ask as I stand up.

"Yeah. Sleep well, Jack. I'll see you in the morning."

I smile at him, and want to melt when he smiles back. "Take care, Rob. Sleep well."

Slowly, he wanders out of the backyard and I go into the house. I still watch - awkwardly - through the front window until he gets to his door, and only turn to go to bed once he's safely inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Robert used a Clone-A-Willy kit on himself and gifted the result to Mary as a gag, both of them knowing that Joseph would confiscate it and then probably use it on himself in private. His gag gift to Joseph was a Jackhammer Jesus. Do not google that unless you are prepared to see potentially-blasphemous sex toys.
> 
> One of the things Robert and Val "talked" about over text was her condition that he get professional help if he wanted to continue having contact with her. He shopped around and settled on a black woman named Lorraine who calls him on his bullshit. He sees her weekly, Wednesday afternoons, and she's pleased with how enthusiastic and cooperative he is as a patient. No one else at this point (besides Val) knows that he's seeing a mental health professional.


	13. This was yacht a good idea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robert is there to fuss over and support Jack. Jack is there to fuss over and support Robert. Mary's starting to reconsider her life choices.
> 
> Joseph...is skeevy. This is going to come back to bite him later.

I spend Friday being grateful for my understanding and supportive friends, and especially for Robert. Saturday dawns crisp and cool with a promise of warming up after lunch. Robert looks tense, which is only to be expected because I'm more than a little tense, myself. Amanda calls while Robert and I are having breakfast. We talk for nearly two hours before she dashes off to meet some friends for brunch.

"I'm only doing this in the hopes that he'll leave me alone afterwards," I tell Robert as we climb into his truck around twelve-thirty.

He grunts. "I hope it works."

We get to the marina area and Robert pulls into a parking lot, where he helps me peel my three oranges.

"Why three oranges?" he asks while I'm eating them.

"Helps fill me up. Also, hydration."

When I'm done with the oranges, we go over to Manda's favorite burrito stand and I order a pair of the biggest, meatiest, cheesiest burritos possible. Then I smother them in hot sauce and more cheese. Robert gives me concerned looks as I dig in, but doesn't say anything. It's a struggle to get the last bites down.

"You okay?" he asks softly as I wipe my mouth.

"I'm wound up because I'm about to get horribly seasick, and I've got about one burrito too many inside me," I say dryly. "Other than that, I'm fine."

Robert smiles softly. "Okay. Remember, I'll be waiting. Take care, Jack. Come back safe."

Tears that have nothing to do with hot sauce spring to my eyes. "Thank you, Rob. I'll do my best."

I want to say _I love you_ , but the words stick in my throat. Mutely, I do the dumb teenager thing where I form a heart with my hands and hold them over my chest. Robert looks stunned, and slowly he forms his own hand-heart and holds it over his chest, too. We smile at each other like a pair of lovestruck idiots, and then the alarm on my phone goes off. Five minute warning. I nod at Robert. He nods at me. It's time to go find Joseph.

Fighting nerves, I walk along the marina looking at the boats and wondering which one is Joseph's until he hails me from the deck of the _St. Peter_. Inherited it from his dad, he tells me. A real fire-and-brimstone type who loved yachts. That explains some of Joseph being so deep in the closet. Warily, I climb aboard and take a seat in the sunken...sitting area. Joseph looks happier and more _alive_ than I've ever seen him as he casts off and rings the bell and does other things I have no terms for.

"We'll be out of the bay soon," he reassures me before humming a song I finally identify as 'Brandy' when he bursts into heartfelt song at the line _But my life, my love, and my lady is the sea_.

The motion of the boat isn't _too_ bad, and I'm starting to worry that I _won't_ get seasick, but then we get out of the bay and the waves suddenly triple in size and my stomach feels like it's going to climb out of my body and swim back to shore. I close my eyes, clench my jaw, and grip the arms of the chair as though I were physically restraining the nausea.

"Jack?" Joseph calls. "Hang in there, the island's not far."

I hang in there. Every wave brings uncomfortable memories of the two burritos now churning inside me like the ocean in every movie that has a nasty storm while in the background, Joseph keeps singing enthusiastically. I keep my eyes closed, all my concentration on making sure the burritos don't make a break for freedom. An unknown length of time later, something touches my hand and my eyes fly open. I have just enough time to register Joseph crouching down beside me, a concerned look on his face. Then the boat bucks and when I open my mouth, what comes out isn't words.

The oranges didn't help at all. Maybe I just haven't gotten to them yet. On the plus side, my stomach is no longer over-full and the other burrito doesn't feel like it's desperate to leap overboard. On the minus side, that is _disgusting_ , both to look at and to smell, and I'm over clinging to the railing in about three seconds flat. Behind me, I can hear Joseph get up and go...inside? Is that the right word on a boat? I don't really care because I'm trying to keep the rest of my lunch down. Eventually I hear Joseph come back out and do...something...something wet. Probably cleaning up my mess. Oh, that was the wrong thing to think about because now that's _all_ I can think about and the other burrito is getting restless.

"Jack?" Joseph calls warily from behind me. "Are you...uh..."

About to puke my guts out? Probably.

Strike that. _Absolutely_.

"If you're going to be sick, I brought a bucket..." There's a sliding, scraping noise. "You don't want to be sick over that side, the wind's in your face."

Oh. Excellent point. I crack one eye open and gingerly look around, locating the bucket just as my stomach's decided enough is enough. With superhuman speed, I lunge for it and wind up on my knees, arms wrapped around a bright orange five-gallon bucket as my stomach turns itself violently inside-out.

Ah, there's the oranges. The silver lining to this whole thing.

Joseph is keeping his distance with the wariness only possessed by a man who has found himself wearing another man's lunch, although it looks like he's changed clothes. When it looks like I'm done he rolls me a bottle of water. I note the seal breaking as I open it, rinse my mouth, and then spit. He slides me a new bucket next, and I abandon my old best friend for my new best friend before retreating to another chair in the seating area. Joseph takes the first bucket, looks at me, and decides against dumping it over the side. Instead, he takes it back inside and comes out looking disgruntled. He's also _definitely_ wearing a different set of clothes. I might be in danger of smirking if my stomach weren't still wanting to throw a fit.

"I guess we'll just head back," he says, and I nod weakly.

He tries to make a joke about how I wasn't kidding when I said I didn't get along with the ocean, but I'm not paying attention. Thankfully, having nothing left to expel keeps things to nausea without dry-heaving, but it's still a relief when the boat bumps to a stop. I have no memory of actually leaving the boat, as far as I'm concerned I teleported straight to the pier - dock? - whatever, I'm on dry land on my hands and knees drawing in deep, grateful breaths as the nausea subsides.

"You?" It's an incredulous statement as much as it is a question, and it's...Joseph's voice?

A familiar pair of boots walks up and Robert goes down on one knee beside me, his hand on my back. "Hey. You okay?"

"I will be," I answer in an undertone, "but he doesn't need to know that."

"I got you some ginger ale," he says casually. "It's a bit warm and flat by now, but that'll just make it gentler on your stomach."

Robert helps me to my feet and hands me the cup of ginger ale he'd been holding. I sip at it, relieved to find that it's _not_ warm and flat, but I cuddle it and lean against him in a show of feigned misery.

"Let's get you home," Robert says with concern that's _not_ feigned, and I nod weakly.

Joseph calls out to me, a vague apology and something about seeing me at...I don't even know, I'm not paying attention. Robert's arm around my shoulder surrounds me with the subtle scents of leather and clove, and I let him lead me away and out of sight.

"Thanks for the drink," I say once we're back at his truck. "I don't think I can face solid food for a while."

"Went that good?" he teases.

"Got him from neck to knees. He was afraid to get near me the whole way back. What time is it?"

He laughs. "Quarter of four. Plenty of time to get your appetite back before I take you out to dinner."

"Nowhere _too_ fancy," I tell him. "I just want to have a quiet evening."

Robert smiles at me. "I know a good Thai place. You can have soup for dinner _and_ have it be an actual meal."

I smile back at him. "You spoil me, Rob."

For just a second, it looks like he's going to lean in and kiss me. Then he turns away, blushing. "Well, _someone_ has to," he says gruffly.

His (carefully-trimmed) stubble scratches my cheek as I hug him. "Thank you."

For a moment, he trembles, and then he hugs me tightly. "Thank _you_. Now get in the truck," he commands me, pushing me towards the door which he holds open.

Grinning, I obey and sip my ginger ale while he drives me home. A shower, a change of clothes, and we climb back into the truck. Dinner is quiet and intimate, tucked into a booth in what looks _almost_ like a Chinese restaurant. I'm not entirely clear on what's in my soup, but it's creamy and spicy with chicken and some type of brown mushrooms and bits of other vegetables. It reminds me of Robert: a little wild, a little mild, and makes me feel warm and content.

I'm a sap.

Robert doesn't drive back to the cul-de-sac. Instead, he takes us out to his thinking spot and we whittle in silence, watching the sun say over Maple Bay. At one point, Robert excuses himself to "mark his territory" and when I imagine the Dover Ghost sniffing trees like a dog, I discover that it hurts to giggle.

On the way home, I drift off and wake up when we get to the cul-de-sac.

"I'm glad you're okay," Robert says as he walks me to my door.

It takes a significant effort to not lean in and kiss his cheek. "Thank you for being there, Rob."

He smiles, and yep, I'm a sap. "Sleep well, Jack. I'll see you in the morning."

"You, too. Although I don't know how well I'm going to be jogging."

Robert pulls me into a tight hug. "Sleep in if you need to. Take care of yourself, or I'll do it _for_ you."

That makes me laugh, even though my abused muscles protest. "I will, I promise. Take care. Call if you need me."

He hugs me a little tighter. "For tonight," I murmurs, "I'm fine."

Oh my _god_ I'm in love.

 

* * *

 

The youths seem surprised to see me at Sunday-evening karaoke, but pleased. Joseph is less surprised and less pleased, although he hides it. I've developed this nasty habit of having deep, philosophical discussions with some of the youths, discussions that leave the Church-approved messages. I'm particularly proud of the "is homosexuality wrong" talk where I pointed out that nearly every species of animal has a percentage of homosexual individuals, that Leviticus also said eating shrimp and lobster is an abomination, and that in the New Testament, Jesus established the New Covenant, which stated that the old Mosaic laws about unclean things were invalid. From there, it spiraled into one part accepting yourself for who you are because God made you like that, and one part deconstructing the Old Testament for things that are no longer 'abomination'.

I thought Joseph was going to have a stroke. Robert and Mary laughed until both of them were crying and complaining about it hurting to smile.

But karaoke - that seems harmless enough. I smile sheepishly at Joseph, apologize for getting seasick, and idly note that he's wearing the blue sweater again.

The evening progresses the way you'd expect: salty snacks and soft drinks, teenagers singing pop songs badly, and good-natured dares and teasing. Joseph gets up a few times, and he's not bad, but he's clearly hamming it up for the youths. They try to get me to sing 'Single Ladies' but I protest I can only do the dance, not sing the song. That gets them determined to see me stand up and sing something, _anything_ , and finally I scroll through the available songs looking for something I'm vaguely confident I can sound decent singing.

I find _Hallelujah_.

It's playing almost before I realized I've decided to sing it, and I close my eyes because I don't care which verses the program wants me to sing, I'm going to sing the ones I've always sung. Also because I don't want to see anyone's expressions, or I'm pretty sure I'm going to cry.

 

_Now I've heard there was a secret chord that David played, and it pleased the Lord. But you don't really care for music, do ya?_

My father's disgruntled face leaps to mind; it's him I'm singing to.

_It goes like this: the fourth, the fifth, the minor fall, the major lift, the baffled king composing Hallelujah!_

_Hallelujah, hallelujah. Hallelujah, hallelujah._

_I did my best; it wasn't much. I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch. I've told the truth: I didn't come to fool ya._

_And even though it all went wrong, I'll stand before the Lord of Song with nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah!_

_Hallelujah, hallelujah. Hallelujah, hallelujah._

 

The youths join in on the chorus. It makes me smile a little past the memory of my baby sister's funeral.

_Now, maybe there's a god above, but all I've ever learned from love is how to shoot somebody who outdrew ya._

_I've seen your flag on the marble arch, but love is not a victory march, it's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah!_

_Hallelujah, hallelujah. Hallelujah, hallelujah._

 

Surprisingly, it's not my father's face that comes up at that verse. Its Joseph's. That makes me smile, just a little, during the chorus because of the words that are coming next.

_You say I took the Name in vain; well, I don't even know the Name. But if I did, well really, what's it to ya?_

_There's a blaze of light in every word - it doesn't matter which you heard, the holy or the broken Hallelujah._

_Hallelujah, hallelujah. Hallelujah, hallelujah._

_Hallelujah, hallelujah. Hallelujah, hallelujah._

 

There's complete silence when the song ends and with more than a hint of trepidation, I open my eyes. That song always gets me pouring my heart out - but the teens are staring at me in awe and then they burst into cheering and applause with one of them repeatedly exclaiming, "Mr. Mom can SING!" Eventually, someone's bound to comment about my non-standard lyrics, and it's not a surprise when it's Joseph. I apologize and explain that with my father's sudden death, I never had a chance to express certain things to him, and that I use the song to try to work through my own feelings.

Naturally, the youths want to know more. Karaoke is forgotten in favor of Mr. Mom talking about the struggle of loving a family member while rejecting their hurtful behavior, and the hard truth that sometimes, someone you love is just a bad person and that there's no shame in letting go and not letting them drag you down with them. There's a brief segue into "the holy or the broken Hallelujah", which I explain as it not making a difference _where_ you found comfort or inspiration, so long as you _did_. I also take the opportunity to address alcohol and alcoholism and how getting drunk doesn't actually make you cool, it just makes you not care that you're acting like a moron.

Joseph seems a little put out that I turned a light and fun evening into deep and somber thoughts, so I suggest a last group song before the parents start arriving, and as a rowdy band we collectively belt out _I'm A Believer_ , Shrek version, complete with the infectious part where we just clap and shout I! BELIEVE! I! BELIEVE! for a while. Then the first parents show up to claim their teenagers, and I excuse myself for my usual 'previous engagement' before Joseph can try to make small talk. Or before he can go outside and see Robert's pickup truck, because with him staying sober, he _can_ pick me up and drive us to Jim and Kim's.

Mary meets us there, as she usually does, but she hasn't started drinking yet. She sits there, playing with her wine glass, until Robert and I are settled with our Cokes. Then she leans forward eagerly and practically demands, "Is it true you barfed on him?"

Robert nearly chokes on his Coke, laughing, and I give Mary a detail-free account of my ill-fated yacht adventure. Mary is sadistically delighted in her husband's thwarted attempt to seduce me, while Robert's arm slides around my waist. Then I tell them how the Youth Activity went, complete with my impromptu preaching session and skipping out before Joseph could get a minute alone with me.

"Are you _sure_ you don't want to be a Youth Minister?" Mary asks when I'm done. "It sounds like you're a natural."

I shake my head. "Pretty sure you have to be religious to be a minister. Who ever heard of an agnostic priest?"

"We could start our own church," Robert suggests with a straight face. "Church of the Dover Ghost."

Mary toasts him with her wine glass. "Church of the Blood of Christ."

They both look at me.

"I'm trying to think of something clever and nothing's coming to mind," I tell them.

We spend the evening joking about parody churches and 'holy' rituals, and when we walk her home, she tells Robert to 'be strong'. I assume she's referring to the fact that the last barbecue of the season is this Saturday, and being around Joseph tests Robert's willpower.

Sure enough, Robert's tense the whole week. Coincidentally, or maybe not, Joseph keeps wearing that same blue sweater around his shoulders, and I'm starting to get a bad feeling about that article of clothing. Thursday - pizza night - is still rough. I make the last two slices a no-man's land between Robert's toppings and mine, but it still reminds me that both of my families are...not here. Robert suggests movies at his house, but I can't concentrate on them _or_ his commentary. Eventually, he just brings out sheets and pillows and I spend the night curled up on one couch while he stretches out on the other. Friday night, we sit on the bench in the backyard for two hours while Robert smokes clove after clove and eventually takes a shot of Nyquil just to get some rest, and I put him to bed on my couch.

He's so tense, _I'm_ getting anxious about tomorrow.

 

* * *

 

With the weather being just a bit nippy the first Saturday in September - and the last cookout of the season - I've made a hearty vegetarian chili in my crock pot, and Robert helps me shape bread dough onto the bottoms of mini muffin cups before we bake them. He brings over the towel-lined, towel-covered bowl of two-bite breadbowls, I carry the crock pot, and my no-spoon-needed chili is welcome indeed. The barbecue is almost nerve-wracking, Robert playing with Craig's girls as if trying to keep himself as far from the alcohol as possible, and he gratefully accepts my offer of bringing him any food or drink he wants. Joseph, weirdly, seems to almost ignore him completely.

That night, Robert calls me at close to midnight and we talk for over an hour about inconsequential things. He asks if I think it's better to chase after dead dreams or let them go; I tell him if there's still a chance, then it's not dead. He asks me if I'd still respect him for taking the chance and failing. I answer that I'd bake consolation cookies and be a willing conspirator for working out a better strategy.

"You're a good man, Jack," he sighs after a long minute. "I'm not sure I deserve that."

"Too bad," I tell him in my best Dad voice. "Just for that, I'm throwing in hot cocoa and blanket cuddles."

Robert laughs, and in the darkness of my room, I smile. "Thank you," he says quietly, warm affection that makes my heart leap. "Good night, Jack."

"Good night, Rob," I murmur, and he hangs up.

He doesn't come by for breakfast or lunch, and he doesn't answer my texts about dinner. For once, there's no Youth Activity, so I'm about climbing the walls in attempts to not succumb to my grey purgatory. Amanda's sympathetic when I call her, and she urges me to stay strong and wait up for him. I make sure my phone is charged and curl up on the couch for a nap.

Somewhere around 11:30, there's a knock on my door which startles me awake and fills me with dread because Robert has a key and no one else should be knocking on my door this late at night. Cautiously, I open it, and there's Mary. Surprisingly, she's mostly sober and her arms are crossed in anger or irritation or both as she glares at me.

"Rob needs you," she spits as soon as the door opens, but I get the feeling it's not...actually...me she's angry at.

"What happened?" I ask, trying not to imagine the worst.

"He fell off the wagon. He's at Jim and Kim's, too drunk to walk. I can't carry him back myself, or I would have."

I'm already grabbing keys, phone, and wallet. As I move to push past her, she puts a hand on my chest to stop me.

"Hey. Are you mad at him?"

"What?" I look at her in confusion. "Why would I be mad at him?"

Her eyes narrow. "For going back to your namesake. For what might have led to him _going_ back to your namesake."

She's trying to get my goat. It won't work; I don't _care_ what hurt Rob so badly, only that he's hurt.

"He's going to be angry enough at himself," I tell her quietly. "Whatever happened, he needs my support and he's got it. Am I giving you a lift back?"

For a long minute, she weighs me with her eyes, but in the end she shrugs. "Why not. You know, for someone who claims he's not religious, you sure embody that whole love-thy-neighbor, turn-the-other-cheek shtick."

I lock the front door and lead the way to my car. "I'd argue that if you need religion to tell you how to be a good person, you're not very good of a person."

The drive to Jim and Kim's is quiet.

"He's in the back booth," Mary says as we climb out. "Or he was when I left. You go get him, I'll stay with the car."

Robert is, indeed, in the back booth. Neil flags me down as I start to head there.

"As much as I like the business," he says quietly, "this isn't healthy. There's something wrong. Get him out of here and take care of him, okay?"

I give him a small, tight smile. "That's why I'm here."

Robert's upright in the booth, but just barely. His eyes flicker over to me as I stop next to him, but he doesn't say anything and he turns his head slightly away from me.

"Come on, Rob," I urge gently. "Let's get you back home. We've got cookies and planning on the schedule tomorrow, if I'm not mistaken."

He shudders, but he doesn't object as I slide my arm around him, and when I get him on his feet I can see he's crying.

"It's okay," I murmur, resisting the urge to kiss the tears away. "I've got you. I'll take care of you. It's okay, we'll work it out together."

He doesn't respond, even to nod, but when I take a step he takes one with me. Or, at least, he tries. He's _trashed_. Slowly, half-carrying him, I get him out of the bar. Mary opens the back door for me and climbs in to help get Robert's mostly-limp body inside. She's even found a pair of plastic shopping bags which she's put one inside the other in case he gets sick, and when I give her a look of surprised gratitude, she flashes me a wry smile and strokes Robert's hair briefly. The drive back from Jim and Kim's is equally quiet.

Working together, Mary and I get Robert set up on the couch. He's barely lucid enough to get some water into, slightly more so after he vomits into the big mixing bowl, but he doesn't talk and he won't look at either of us. She sits with him, urging him to sip the glass of water while I rinse out the bowl and then fetch the pillow and blanket from the linen closet. Robert curls up sullenly under the blanket as soon as I spread it over him, and Mary strokes his hair one last time before turning to me with a sigh.

"Call me if you need anything," she says shortly. Then she stalks out, furious for no reason I can identify.

I take my shoes back off, empty my pockets, and get settled into the recliner. My thought had been that once Mary left, Robert might talk to me, but either he's still sulking or he's drifted off. Eventually, I drift off as well.

Quiet cursing wakes me, but I keep my eyes closed and my breathing slow and even. It's been a while since Robert woke up hung over, but I remember he's never happy about it. I can hear him take the painkillers and drink the water before flopping back with a groan.

"Damn it, Jack," he mutters, but it's resigned instead of angry. Then he sighs. "I know you're awake."

For a second, I consider pretending to still be asleep or playing dead, but I open my eyes instead. Robert looks like hell.

"You should have left me to rot," he says darkly.

"Not going to happen. You know me better than that."

He looks pained. "Jack..." A sigh, and he averts his eyes. "You don't even know what I _did_."

"Am I going to have to worry about the cops breaking my door down?"

That makes him choke back a laugh. "No."

"Then it doesn't matter. All that matters is that you're hurting, and I'll do everything I can to make it better."

Robert sighs. "Fine. You can start with coffee."

"You got it." I stand and stretch, and as I head towards the kitchen he says my name. I stop.

"Thanks," he says softly.

I smile at him over my shoulder, and a little bit of the tension in his face evaporates.

While the coffee is brewing, I fetch a pair of pajamas for Robert and leave them in the bathroom. If past hangovers are anything to go by, he's going to want toast and eggs over easy with apple juice, so I get that started. I can hear him visit the bathroom, and then he comes in to sit at the table and sip coffee while I cook. He mutters thanks again as I set the loaded plate in front of him, and I let him eat at his slow, hung over pace while I make French toast for myself. We finish eating about the same time, and he looks more human by the time he puts his fork down.

My phone chirps from the living room. Unsurprisingly, it's a text from Amanda.

IS KNIFE DAD OKAY??

I send her a quick text back.

WE JUST FINISHED BREAKFAST. HE HAD A BAD NIGHT.

That's putting it mildly, but I'm not going to say anything else until I know what happened. A moment later, her reply comes in.

OK. TELL HIM I LOVE HIM AND HUG HIM FOR ME.

An amused snort just over my shoulder makes me jump, and Robert snatches my phone away, grinning.

LUV U 2 U LITTLE DELINQUENT.

While I watch, they exchange a sequence of emojis including a heart, a ghost with its tongue stuck out, a skull, and two different knives. Finally, Robert hands me my phone and smirks.

"Well?" he mock-demands. "Where's my hug?"

I hug Robert. He melts against me, head on my shoulder, and I can feel him tremble a little. I rub his back soothingly, and his arms tighten around me.

"Jack..."

"It's okay, Rob. You don't have to tell me."

His fingernails scrape my back through the fabric of my shirt as his hands tighten into fists. "I'm giving up," he whispers, sounding close to tears. "I keep trying, and all I get is hurt. It's not worth it."

I want to kiss him almost more than anything in the world. But I don't. I just hug him tighter.

"If there's anything I can do to help, let me know."

"This is helping," he says quietly. He lets the moment stand before I feel him grinning against my neck. "A hot shower will help more. So will your cookies."

I give him a quick squeeze before letting go. "You know where the bathroom is," I tell him, smiling. "And I _did_ promise you cookies."

"And hot cocoa," he points out.

"And blanket cuddles."

Robert smiles shyly. "Yeah. But _you_ need a shower, too."

Before I can stop myself, I'm imagining us taking a shower together, and now I'm blushing. But it's worth it to hear him laugh, open and warm.

"I'll go first," he says, looking at me with tender affection that makes my heart pound even as I feel like I'm melting.

"O-okay."

Robert goes into the bathroom. I go to the kitchen to get the cookie dough mixed up and chilling. I wait until I hear the shower stop to wash the breakfast dishes, and a few minutes later he comes in dressed in some of the clean clothes I keep here for him.

"Why did you come and get me?" he asks as I'm rinsing the last dish. "Wait, I don't mean it like that. I know why you came and got me. How did you _know_ you needed to come and get me?"

"Mary told me," I say slowly, drying my hands.

Robert looks away, staring at the floor.

"She seemed...angry."

For a second, the look turns into a glare, but then Robert sighs and just looks...tired. "Yeah. I guess she would be. So she ratted me out, huh?"

"Robert..." I cross the kitchen to hug him again. "I was worried about you."

"I know," he says quietly. "I'm sorry. You don't have to worry about that again, I promise."

"If it's something important to you...maybe we can find another way?"

He's considering it, I can tell. He steps back to look at me somberly from arm's length, hands on my shoulders.

"Maybe," he says. "I'm sure you'll guess eventually, and when you do...if you can think of a way to make it happen, go for it. Don't ask my opinion before you do it. Don't listen to anything I say. Just _do_ it." He pauses for a beat. "Assuming your plan doesn't involve murder. Don't go to jail for me, Jack. I don't want to have to tell Amanda that I busted her old man out of prison and now we're on the lam."

"I won't go to prison," I tell him solemnly. "You'll lie me an alibi and we'll kill any witnesses."

"I've taught you well," he says, giving my shoulders a squeeze. "Now go shower."

I grin, wanting so badly to kiss the tip of his nose, but I resist. "Don't burn the house down."

Robert laughs. "I make no promises."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Joseph's third date, especially if you dated Robert twice first, is skeevy and makes me incredibly uncomfortable. I've known abusive people and been targeted by one of them and the way Robert's worked up and furious and then Joseph's charming and confused SCREAMS "abuse victim and abuser". Combine that with Mary's scathing comments about Joseph's "friends" and you've got a serial adulterer who actively preyed on Dadsona and the fact that the Robert conversation doesn't trigger an option that will let you NOT wind up in bed with Joseph is Not Cool.


	14. Subversion and pumpkin spice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's autumn. Mary's actively reconsidering her life choices. Robert and Jack are unfairly cute, but when are they not?

Aside from the promise of six months without the monthly minefield that is Joseph's cookouts, September brings cooler weather, the scent of autumn, and apples. Specifically, from Hugo, who got an entire bag from one or more of his students. Robert and I spend a very domestic day peeling and slicing apples, and then I bake mini apple pies for Hugo to distribute as he sees fit. That sets off a round of baking requests from the rest of the cul-de-sac, and for a week and a half my house smells like apples and cinnamon. Robert and I feast on scraps and leftovers, eating apple-cinnamon breakfast foods including oatmeal, pancakes, muffins, and bread pudding. Brian and Daisy join us for Sunday breakfast with Craig and his girls, that week. She's taken an interest in cooking - at least, with apples - and the twins are close to her age so with Amanda at college, she can get some socialization in.

Mary joins us for pizza night, which is a relief for me but apparently a bigger relief for _her_. I don't keep liquor in the house, of course, and we sprang the invitation on her at the last minute, so she left the house quick enough that she didn't grab a bottle on the way. Spending time with her sober is...revealing. It's like the entirety of her home life is a job she despises, and she takes it out on the rest of the world - her friends mostly excluded - because she's forgotten how non-hostile social interaction goes.

Cautiously, I mention the idea that she might be happier...not being part of that family. She tells us tiredly that she'd thought about it, a lot, but she doesn't have the resources to live on her own much less provide child support because it's either that or custody, and she _knows_ that if she's left in charge of even one of the kids, it's going to end in jail time. That evening, we pull out our laptops and Robert shows her the things he does with stocks while I show her the things I'm doing for Craig. Mary confesses that she basically does all the books for the animal shelter, and Robert asks if she's got a resume. Turns out Mary does _not_ have a resume, and Sunday night gets penciled in as 'byob and meet at Jack's'.

Sunday afternoon is an all-things-apple church bake sale. I get my own table, which starts out heaped with oatmeal cookies, mini pies, caramel crumb cake, some little turnovers, and improvised cinnamon rolls. By this time, the congregation knows that I _know_ what I'm doing in a kitchen even though I'm not part of the flock, and between that and the youths bringing their parents by to meet Mr. Mom, I'm the first table sold out. Mary congratulates me as she tallies my cash box, and tells me in a low voice that Joseph's just given up baking for these things. Then she gives me an envelope of money - either reimbursement for materials or seed money for the next bake sale - and I hand over the goodies I'd set aside for her. I drift between the tables for a bit, buying something here and there and swapping baking tips. Sure enough, Joseph's doing the supervisor thing instead of manning his own table. He looks...well, no more disgruntled than usual.

When I pick Robert up for dinner, the directions he gives me are to a little Mexican place. We feast on fresh, hot tacos and some lime-based variant on lemonade with sopapillas for dessert, honey and spiced chocolate to dip or drizzle over them.

"Val called me," he says quietly as I drive us home, crisp air swirling in through the half-open window while he smokes a clove. "Actually called. Texted me beforehand to tell me to pick up."

I shoot a quick glance at him, but he only seems pensive. "How'd it go?"

"Had to tell her about my fuckup." He takes a long drag and blows the smoke thoughtfully out the window. "That was...hard. Explaining why I did it. But she understood. For the first time in probably a decade, I heard positive words from my daughter. I'm making progress, Jack," he finished in a tone of soft wonder.

"Yes, you are," I tell him warmly. "I'm proud of you, Rob. I know that couldn't have been easy at all."

"I'm un-fucking my life up." He grinds the clove out on the sole of one boot and drops the butt into the pack before tucking it away in his jacket. "Some day, I might even be worthy of the time and effort you've spent on me."

"Robert!"

The word leaves my mouth with all the parental command I've ever used on my daughter, and beside me, I can see him flinch.

"If I didn't think you were worth it," I say firmly, "I wouldn't _spend_ that time and effort."

"I don't _feel_ worthy of it." The words are quiet, tired, dark.

"Feelings aren't facts."

"Fine," he says shortly. "Some day, I might _feel_ worthy of the time and effort you've spent on me."

I pull into my driveway and turn the car off. "Robert..."

He's already climbing out. "Bench."

By the time I get to the bench under the cherry tree, he's smoking another clove. I sit and pull him into a hug, and after a few seconds he sighs and relaxes against me.

"I'm sorry, Jack. I'm not used to people having a higher opinion of me than I have of myself."

I lay my cheek against his hair. "You're too hard on yourself, Rob. Give yourself some credit."

He laughs softly. "Maybe I should get one of those W-W-J-D bracelets, only I'll be asking myself _What would Jack do?_ "

"Whatever helps you stop the negative thoughts," I say, hugging him a bit tighter.

Robert holds out the hand with the tattoo I've never asked about because whenever he sees me looking at it, he hides that hand or tugs the sleeve down to cover the design. "Maybe I could do something with this."

Slowly, I cover his hand with one of mine. "It's your body, Rob. No one can tell you what to do with it. If you want to change your tattoo, then do it."

He makes a fist, then opens his hand and tangles his fingers awkwardly with mine. "Good advice," he sighs. "How come you're so good at this?"

"I've got a head start on un-fucking my head," I tease. "I started at the age of eighteen or nineteen."

Robert moves his hand to cover mine, taking my arm with him so that I'm hugging him again. "Thanks for being patient with me. That's a new thing my therapist has me doing," he adds. "Instead of apologizing for something negative about myself, thanking someone for doing a positive thing."

"You're doing great," I assure him.

"I don't _feel_ like I am, but I think we've established that my judgment isn't the best." He sits up to smile hesitantly at me, leaving me a melting puddle. "So now that you got _my_ head out of my ass, we help Mary un-fuck her life?"

Fighting the usual feeling of being a teenager with a crush, I smile back. "You got it."

 

* * *

 

Neither of us are very confident in our mastery of sounding like people a company would want to hire, even with the aid of Google and several resume-builder sites. So when Mary comes over at nine with a bottle of wine, she finds Hugo there with us ready to turn her work experience into something coherent. Between the four of us, we get a decent-looking resume hammered out by the time eleven rolls around. Hugo thanks Mary for sharing the wine and takes his leave. Mary is still pretty steady and there's actually wine left in the bottle, which I find heartening.

"Now what?" she asks, looking between me and Robert.

"Next step," I tell her, "is to figure out what times you can potentially work."

"Don't worry about transportation," Robert adds. "Jack or I can drop you off and pick you up."

I nod. "Any time, day or night. But once we've got that figured out, we can start shopping around for jobs and see what they're looking for."

Mary looks at the printout of her resume and shudders. "I'm not sure I'm ready for this."

Robert leans over to hug her. "You don't have to be. But when you _are_ , we'll make sure your _resume_ is, too."

 

* * *

 

Between all our usual activities and trying to get Robert's yard into something that can be raked by the time the leaves start to fall, the days fly by. Mary arranges for the rich couple to meet with Robert so he can teach them about Betsy - and so that he doesn't feel that he's losing her. She gets the surgery she needs, and the couple promises that if they ever need a sitter, they'll call him.

To everyone's complete surprise, Lucien starts showing up at youth activities. Turns out he's friends with a few of them, and their stories of Mr. Mom who subverts church teachings while still being cool intrigued him. He's surprised to discover it's me, but not for long. Joseph looks frustrated and baffled that he's been neighbors with Lucien for years and never got him to come to a youth activity, but stories of me got him showing up. Sunday nights with Mary are at my house as often as they are at the bar, with discussions of job skills and responsibilities alternating with the usual gossip and joking. When the three of us have tea with Damien, he adds his professional experience to the mix - particularly with regards to interviewing. Turns out Lucien did some office work for Brian over the summer. Not enough to afford a used car, but enough to start a resume of his own. Although he's still abrasive in person, he apparently has a smooth and elegant phone persona which he credits entirely to his father, something that makes Damien blush.

Robert and I are _mostly_ dealing with our lifestyle changes well. Amanda still calls every Saturday morning and usually texts me late at night to tell me something interesting that happened or just to exchange 'I love you', and everything else keeps me busy enough that I don't feel adrift most of the time. Sometimes the grey purgatory pulls at me, and I try to text Robert before it sucks me in. I don't always make it, but those incidents are few and far between. Usually I can get a text off, even if it's just a single letter, and Robert comes to wrap me in leather and cloves and bring me out of myself. He's dealing with sobriety the same way, mostly okay but sometimes in sudden need of support. I've dashed down the street in a towel, met him in the backyard in pajamas with an afghan, and once I bailed on the youths when he texted to let me know that he needed help fighting the call of the bottle. But he stays strong, even if he needs help sometimes, and I get Val's number so I can take up Amanda's torch and let her know what her father's doing.

The youth group has _definitely_ taken a shine to me, especially after the talks about homosexuality and shitty family members. The week after I bailed to help Robert, we talked about addiction and the importance of a support network and somehow got off on a tangent about how easy it is to go along with the crowd and kick someone when they're down, but how much strength it takes to stop and help them back up. Someone used the phrase "it's cool to be kind", and the entire group adopted that as their motto - Lucien included. Then Joseph brought out the "turn the other cheek" thing, which led to a bunch of teens using their phones to google the meaning when I pointed out that the phrase isn't an expression of accepting violence, it's a direction to stand up for yourself. The ancient equivalent of daring the other guy to hit you so you can file assault charges.

I can almost _see_ Joseph questioning his faith every time I talk with the teens. Any time the subject of me being non-religious comes up, it just gets worse. Why am I so knowledgeable? Well, I was raised with the traditional teachings but didn't accept them blindly. I questioned, and when I got no answers, I went looking for them. Anything that falls apart under scrutiny should be discarded, and someone who pushes blind faith should likewise be questioned. Am I encouraging them to be non-religious? Of course not, that's a personal choice. I'm only encouraging them to look carefully at what they're told, accept the parts that make sense and reject what seems hurtful. To demand kindness and respect from the world, but also show the world kindness and respect in turn.

A few of the youths hesitantly admit to shitty family situations, and are tearfully surprised by hugs and support from the others. That leads to more admissions - problems with schoolwork, interests brushed off for one reason or another, and confessions of gender identity and sexuality. All are met with kindness and support, the mob focused on love instead of hate, the herd closing ranks to protect the injured. I'm so proud of them I could burst.

October turns into more of the same, but with pumpkin spice and raking leaves. Robert and I take the opportunity to pull, trim, or do our best to kill unwanted elements in his yard, and Brian helps. The youths spontaneously decide that what they really want to do for Halloween is construct and run a kid-friendly Haunted Maze And Activity Evening, and it's such a wholesome community event that Joseph grins and bows to the inevitable. Robert and I hand out flyers for the event when we walk the dogs and discuss costume ideas with Mary. Eventually, Mary compares me to Captain America and Robert jokingly suggests she go with me - since I'll be chaperoning, of course - as Peggy Carter. Three seconds later, we're all seriously considering it because a badass and sharp-tempered woman suits Mary very well. Then Robert asks me if I'd forgive him shaving for a part and offers to accompany us as Howard Stark.

Assembling costumes very neatly occupies what might otherwise have been free time, with Robert somehow managing to get his hands on period-appropriate clothing for himself and Mary. When the big night arrives, the Saturday before Halloween, Robert is in character from the moment we walk up and a cat-costumed youth informs us it's a $5 entry fee per adult, $3 for 12-18, and kids 11 and under free. Carelessly, but with feigned annoyance, Robert checks his wallet and hands a hundred-dollar bill to the youth with an apology that it's the smallest bill he has and a dismissive command to keep the change. Then he offers "Peggy" his arm and I salute the youth before following them inside. We call each other by costume name all night, refusing to break character. It drives a sailor-suited Joseph _crazy_ that we keep insisting we're Howard, Peggy, and Steve, and even more when I act as Mary's chivalrous protector and kiss her on the cheek.

The night is a blast. I pose for pictures with probably three dozen kids. Aside from the maze, there's a coloring station, a candy-apple-decorating station, a "reach into the box and touch these gross-feeling objects while I tell you they're body parts but really they're things like peeled grapes" station, a quarter-a-spin Trick Or Treat Wheel, and $1 grab bags. The kids love everything, the adults seem amused, Joseph has to tell me in disappointment that he's the Cracker Jack sailor, and the youths have a blast. They cheerfully call me Cap all night, and when the doors close behind the last kids, "Howard" directs them all to group up around me and "Peggy" and then casually hands Joseph his phone and instructs him to take a group photo on his "new-fangled flat camera". Robert sends it to me and Mary, Mary sends it to Joseph, and Joseph puts it on the church website where all the youths promptly download a copy for themselves. Then "Howard" announces that he, Captain America, and Agent Carter all need to head out for an important meeting in Washington, and offers us each an arm before we stroll proudly out to cheering and applause.

I send a copy of the picture to Amanda. She sends back an entire row of broadly-smiling faces, some with tears of mirth coming from their eyes. Robert forwards it to Val and refuses to show us what she said, but Val texts me a thumbs-up and a blown kiss, so I guess she approves.

The official Trick Or Treat night (really afternoon and early evening, for safety) is on the Sunday before Halloween, and I put the costume back on to hand out candy. Robert declines to decorate his house, instead keeping me company and encouraging kids to go straight across the cul-de-sac to Damien's spectacularly spooky house, bypassing Joseph with his bizarre Jesus-themed Jack-o-lantern stickers. Mary is the one taking Chris and the twins trick-or-treating out of a rare show of sympathy because if she doesn't, they won't get their "fair share" of the "haul". Lucien goes with her, being a bit old for it himself. Brian's herding Craig's girls - who have pressured Daisy into going - so he and River can spend a night relaxing and handing out candy. Hugo's taking Carmensita along with Ernest and Duchess Cordelia, who's been dressed as some kind of devil-dog Pokemon. It's a nice, domestic night. Robert seems to enjoy himself, and after a hearty dinner and a movie, spends the night on my couch.

I make pumpkin pancakes in the morning.

Halloween itself is a Tuesday, and remarkably anticlimactic after the youth's event. Robert and Damien and I go for one last picnic in the cemetery before it gets too cold, and in the evening Robert and I build a fire in the newly-reclaimed fire pit in his backyard and roast frankfurters and toast marshmallows and drink hot apple cider and just...revel in the quiet comfort of cold air, woodsmoke, and each other. That night, I spend the night on his couch.

 

* * *

 

November dawns depressingly, cold and rainy with dark grey clouds that fill the sky and blot out the sun. Robert urges me to not go home yet, and it doesn't really take much urging to convince me. It's a 'stay inside and be domestic' sort of day. We clean a little, and then he offers me the use of his bathroom with the confession that he kept the clothes I lent him the first time he showered at my place. It's...surprisingly intimate, using his shampoo, his soap, his razor. Makes me realize what it must have been like for him when he showered at my house. Once we've both showered - he's let the stubble grow back down to the jawline but shaved his neck and I want to kiss it, _oh god_ I want to bury my face in his neck and smell his skin - we collect the towels and my dirty clothes and do his laundry.

I make a hearty soup for lunch. We sit side by side on his couch, drinking soup from mugs and watching the rain with a quilt spread over our laps. Amanda texts me asking how Halloween was, since hers was some crazy picture-taking, candy-collecting adventure. I tell her it was low-key and send her a selfie of us with our mugs.

DAD, STOP, YOU'RE NOT ALLOWED TO BE THIS CUTE, she texts. Then, moments later, another one comes in. DON'T LISTEN TO ME, KEEP BEING CUTE, I LOVE YOU BOTH.

"Hey," Robert says softly. "When's Thanksgiving Break?"

That's a good question. Amanda answers pretty quickly when I ask, assuring us that she's coming back to spend the holiday with her dads. Then she asks if Val is coming, too. Robert makes a reluctant sound and faceplants into my shoulder.

"Tell her I'm asking," he mumbles, digging his phone out.

I send the message off quickly, then look over at Robert's phone.

HEY VAL. I'LL BE AT JACK'S FOR THANKSGIVING IF YOU DON'T HAVE PLANS.

I send her the soup selfie while we wait for a response.

EGG NOG?

It makes no sense to me, but Robert looks unhappy with himself. FROM THE STORE, he texts back. AND NOTHING IN THE WHIPPED CREAM.

"Rob?"

I get a shoulder full of face again. "I know you won't use any alcohol in anything," he says quietly. "Val's making sure there's no temptations. No way for me to screw up."

That gets him hugged. "You have my full support, Rob. You know that."

He sighs. "I know. But that doesn't make owning up to what an asshole I've been any easier. She's right to be suspicious. Even if it was just a tablespoon of rum in the whipped cream, I'd be drinking from the bottle before or after."

Robert's phone buzzes, reminding him he missed a text. GIRLFRIEND'S GOING TO BE WITH HER FAMILY, SO SURE. CALL IT A TEST RUN FOR CHRISTMAS.

For a long minute, he stares at the message as if unable to believe that he's reading it correctly. Then slowly, gingerly, he hands it to me. I don't bother to ask why; his hands are shaking. I wait to see if he's going to tell me what to type, but he buries his face in his hands and he sounds close to tears.

HI VAL, IT'S JACK, LOOKING FORWARD TO HAVING YOU AND YOUR DAD OVER. I KNOW THIS MEANS A LOT TO HIM. THANKS FOR GIVING HIM A CHANCE.

I hug Robert to my chest and rub his back while waiting for Val's response. It comes in on my phone.

IS HE NERVOUS? BECAUSE I'M SHAKING.

TERRIFIED, I text back.

GOOD. THAT MAKES TWO OF US. I'LL RENDEZVOUS WITH AMANDA.

Belatedly, I remember Amanda's still waiting for word. VAL SAYS YES AND SHE'LL RENDEZVOUS WITH YOU, I tell her. A minute later she sends me a bunch of smileys, hearts, and...bells with confetti? LOVE YOU, PANDA, I send her.

LOVE YOU TOO, DAD, she sends back. HUG KNIFE DAD FOR ME AND TELL HIM I LOVE HIM.

I hug Robert a bit tighter. "Manda says she loves you," I murmur.

He sits up and takes his phone back. LOVE YOU, VAL. Then he sends one to Amanda. LUV U 2 (PANDA).

The temptation is so strong to just lean over and kiss him.

"So," I start slowly, "what do you want to do with the rest of the day?"

Robert gives me a look that speaks eloquently of blankets but no clothes. Then he looks away. "Movie?"

I settle back in next to him and pull the blanket up. "Sounds good to me."

The smile I get makes me feel like I'm melting.

 

* * *

 

We meet up early for trivia night - the group has long since stopped competing for the prize, whether we're one team or two or three - and trade Halloween stories before discussing Thanksgiving. Ernest's going to be at his other dad's for Thanksgiving, but Brian invites him (and Mat, and Carmensita) to join him and Daisy. The more, the merrier, he says. Craig, surprisingly, is going _with_ his girls to their mom's. Something about a clause in custody of River. Damien and Lucien are volunteering at a soup kitchen for the holiday. Joseph and his family are the only ones with a full family, of course. The news that not only is Amanda coming home for the holiday but she's bringing Val with her gets cheers and excitement from the whole team.

We compete as a single team this week, answering questions almost absently and discussing Thanksgiving traditions and recipes. Brian says Robert and I are welcome to join him, but he understands if we want to just spend the day with our daughters. Robert brushes it off with a joke, but under the table his fingers are trying to strangle mine and I know that saying he's still anxious is an understatement. After trivia, we sit on the backyard bench with the afghan while he crushes my hand and smokes a clove.

"I'm terrified I'll fuck up," he confesses once he's ground the butt out. "Not that you needed me to tell you that, but I needed to say it out loud. I'm so goddamn scared I'll screw up and lose my daughter again. I want to go get blitzed enough that I can't think, just run away from the whole thing, but that's an instant fail."

"If you want to over-indulge and feel like crap in the morning," I tease, "we could order a pizza and see how much we can eat."

He chuckles. "Not with pizza night tomorrow. But I did see a new two-liter in your fridge. I bet I could make myself pretty miserable with that."

"You'll never sleep with all that caffeine in your system, Rob."

"Good point. Let's order Chinese. We can get a two-liter of Sprite or something, and we'll have cold Chinese food for tomorrow's breakfast."

I clutch my chest in mock-horror. "Heresy!"

"Fine," he teases, "we'll nuke it first." 

"You...you _fiend!_ " I gasp, recoiling dramatically. "How _could_ you!"

"Well, first you dump it into a bowl...then you put the bowl in the microwave..."

We both crack up laughing.

"Seriously, though," he says once we've caught our breath, "I'm crashing on your couch tonight."

I hug him. "You know you're always welcome, Rob."

Slowly, he leans against me and rests his head on my shoulder. "You're a saint, Jack."

With a heroic application of willpower, I do _not_ turn my head and kiss Robert's hair. "You say that like I'm _not_ a barely-functional wreck with no idea what to do if I'm not being a caretaker," I say softly, my cheek nestled against his head.

Although I can't see or feel his mouth, I know Robert is frowning.

"You know I'm right." My voice trembles slightly.

Slowly, Robert sits up and looks at me as if I were a clue to the Dover Ghost or a hundred-dollar bill that might be counterfeit.

"Jack," he says slowly, "if you're worried that I'm somehow going to lose interest in you once I'm more stable..."

The thought hadn't consciously crossed my mind, but now that he's said it...yes, that's _exactly_ what I'm afraid of. I look away, borrowing his body language, trusting that he'll know what I can't squeeze past the lump in my throat. He crushes me to his chest, arms trembling, stubble catching in my hair.

"Damn it, Jack..." He takes a pair of shaky breaths. "All that means is that when I don't need to see my therapist anymore, it's your turn. And I'll be next to you every step of the way as we _both_ figure out what we're doing with our lives. When you gave back your key..."

It takes me a moment to remember that: the wrenching terror of the security chain, Amanda reassuring me over cherry pie that Robert would come back because I'd fed him, the indescribable relief when he did.

Robert laughs shakily. "When you gave back your key, fuck, I was so fucking scared I'd pushed you away hard enough that you wouldn't give me a second chance. You are like a goddamn _angel_ sent from heaven and if you're secretly mortal and imperfect like the rest of us then that just gives me a chance to help you the way you're helping me. We're blood bound," he says, suddenly sounding prim and lofty. "You die, I die. I don't make the rules. Talk to Queensbury."

The switch from intense emotion to casual bullshit is so smooth and sudden that I find myself laughing.

"I'm serious," he murmurs into my hair. "If you want to talk to my therapist once I'm better, I'll support you all the way. You had a shit upbringing, but you did amazingly with Amanda and she's off on her own now so it's time to take care of yourself."

"I can't argue with that," I murmur back.

"Good." He hugs me tighter before releasing me. "It's getting nippy out here. Let's go in and bundle up."

"Hot chocolate?" I suggest, smiling at him.

Slowly, he smiles back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Robert tells Val about his slip-up, he tells her things Jack doesn't know yet. What he did, and why he did it, and why he went out and tried to drown himself in whiskey afterwards. Also how scared he was that doing all of that would cost him Jack. Val said that if Jack had pulled away because of it, she would have driven down there herself to explain things and convince him to come back.
> 
> This seems like a good time to mention that there will be a Halloween omake posted - you guessed it - on Halloween. ^_^


	15. Giving thanks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanksgiving is a time for family. Depending on the family, this is not always a good thing. But hey! Guess who's back from college for Thanksgiving break!

Maybe it's the impending visit from Val, but Robert starts lending more of an active hand in the kitchen. Especially for Italian Night with Mat and Carmensita. Mary compares Thanksgiving plans with us; she's not looking forward to the holiday and all the emphasis on Family and Togetherness and being thankful. The only thing she's thankful for, she tells us bitterly, is that her in-laws are dead. The youth group spontaneously (or maybe not so spontaneously, given Lucien's presence) decides that collecting donations for the soup kitchen is going to be their focus all through November and December. After all, there's Christmas dinner to think about after Thanksgiving is over.

Christmas...I need to start thinking about gifts.

There's a little bit of worry about where Val will sleep, but Amanda assures me that they'll be fine sharing her room the night before and that Val had already planned to get a hotel room. A little finagling turns into travel plans: my daughter will be flying into New York, where Val will pick her up and drive them both here. That means she'll have the whole week to visit rather than losing half of it to driving. Robert's increasingly nervous as the day approaches, and we spend a lot of time channeling that nervous energy into cleaning his house. This has the dual benefits of not only keeping him from more destructive activities, but boosting his confidence as he sees his cluttered bachelor pad transform into a chic living area.

Of course, that doesn't stop him from being a nervous wreck the night before our daughters are due to arrive, and when three cloves don't calm his nerves enough for the urge to punch my cherry tree to disperse, I put him to bed on the couch with a shot of Nyquil and hold his hand until it kicks in. He wakes before me, for once, and we take a morning jog together even though Craig's already packed up and gone to Ashley's with the girls. For further distraction, we spend the morning baking pumpkin pies and slicing apples for apple pie. Lunch is sandwiches, and then he helps me get _really_ fancy with my pie crusts for the apple pies. As we put them in the oven, the sound of a car door slamming makes us both freeze.

The front door opens.

"Yo pops! What smells like pie in here?" Amanda shouts.

"That would be the pie," I shout back, and then we're dashing for each other and meet somewhere near the doorway, hugging fiercely.

It's such an emotionally intense moment that when our hug ends and Amanda launches herself at Robert for an equally-tight hug, I'm about ten or twenty seconds into hugging Val before I realize what I've done. But hey, she hugs back before we separate, and then it's me and Amanda standing off to the side, watching Val and Robert stare uncertainly at each other.

"Hey," Robert says, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

"Hey," Val returns, looking like she's going to bolt if he moves too fast.

Robert blinks away tears. "I'm sorry," he breathes. "God, Val, I'm sorry for everything."

Val glances at Amanda, who gives her two enthusiastic thumbs up. Three steps and she sweeps her startled father into a hug. He freezes, then slowly hugs her back, and I'm not sure if they're both crying but I know he is. Only for a minute, but that's enough. As they step away I hear Val tell him he better not do anything because she's let herself get her hopes up, and he says something about hara-kiri with a switchblade in the backyard if he fucks up.

I'm _pretty_ sure he's joking. Still...

"Hey, none of that," I tell him firmly. "We're blood bound, remember? You die, I die. Don't argue with me, take it up with Queensbury."

Robert looks startled, then briefly amused, and then that fades into thoughtfulness. "We are, aren't we?" he murmurs. "Okay, I take it back, no hara-kiri," he tells Val. "I can't die, or it will send Jack into a state of comatose despair."

Val starts to smile, but glancing at Amanda wipes the expression off her face. "He's not joking?"

"Nope, he's telling the truth," Amanda says briskly. "Dad'll go into a withdrawn state until a strong enough outside stimulus brings him back out of himself. The day Knife Dad decided to go cold turkey, he yelled at Dad and I found him in the bathroom just sitting on the floor holding his phone. I'd texted him, but he was too deep to text back."

"She read me the riot act." Robert's voice is quiet. "That's when I knew I had to stop. _Completely_."

Val looks at me, a little wild-eyed, silently asking me to refute what they're saying.

"He found a bottle of whiskey I'd bought about two months previous and forgotten about. Got pissed and started pouring it out, then threw it into the bathtub and stormed out. I...don't remember most of that day," I admit sheepishly. "I cleaned up the glass, then there was a text from Amanda, and then I was sitting on the couch eating a burrito."

Eyebrows arched as high as they'll go, Val turns back to her father. "You better invite me to the wedding," she says threateningly.

"We're not-" Robert breaks off as I blush. "I'm too much of a mess still. We're...not."

Undeterred, she crosses her arms. "I _have_ eyes," she points out. "There _better_ be a wedding, and I _better_ be invited."

Robert blushes.

 

* * *

 

There's a lot of visiting crammed into the first half of the week. Amanda reconnects with The Emmas for an afternoon, then spends the evening chattering about what everyone's been up to in their different colleges. She's disappointed that Craig and his girls are gone, but that passes when she gets to spend an entire morning introducing Val to Daisy and Carmensita. Robert and I do some last-minute shopping, making sure we have everything we need to make every dish and have every traditional offering, from green bean casserole to bowls of sweet gherkins for Robert and black olives for me.

Val and Robert tentatively reconnect while Amanda's out. At first, I offer to leave the room, but _both_ of them shoot that idea down. They'd rather have me there as a buffer, so I stay. Or, more accurately, they follow me around as I dig out the fancy dishes and do some meal planning. That leads to the twin revelations that my table just isn't _big_ enough for all the dishes, and that Val would like to have their fancy dishes brought out of the proverbial mothballs. That makes Robert choke up, although whether from the association with his late wife or just Val wanting that emotional connection, I don't ask. Probably both. But we go over to Robert's, and give Val the tour. My house is small and cozy, without a separate dining room. Robert's, for all that it only has one bedroom, was built for entertaining and there's a dining room with an antique buffet, matching china cabinet, and a solid wooden table with enough leaves that it can expand from seating six to twelve.

We are _so_ having Thanksgiving in this dining room.

When Amanda gets back from reconnecting with The Emmas, we collectively decide what foods are going to go in which serving dishes and mock-set the table to make sure there's enough room for everything. There's a bit of debate over who's going to sit where, but our daughters double-team us and declare that they're going to sit on one side of the table and we're going to sit on the other, across from them. Amanda cheerfully tells us it's so we can more easily talk to our offspring. Val says it's so they don't have to watch us giving each other mushy looks the entire meal. Robert and I both blush.

Having two kitchens at my disposal makes meal-planning easier in some ways - I can actually brine the turkey properly in Robert's fridge, for example - and more complex in others, because foods will need to be transported to Robert's house if they're prepared in mine. Wednesday night, I camp on Robert's couch so I can get the turkey in the oven nice and early. Then it's setting the table - for real this time - and herding Robert over to my house for breakfast. I leave him there with Amanda, entrusting the potatoes to him and the green bean casserole to her while I take Val back with me to set out nibbles and prepare the stuffing. When he comes back with the potatoes (Amanda getting the doors for him) I leave them on an electric burner set to 'warm' and he helps me get our fifteen-pound turkey out of the oven. Then the stuffing goes in and I prepare the gravy. Robert carves the bird, the rolls go in the oven, Amanda's back with the casserole, Val's got the pies out on the buffet, foods go into or onto serving dishes, Robert and I duck into his bedroom one after the other to change into to something less 'sweaty T-shirt', egg nog and sparkling grape juice are being poured, pitcher of ice water on the buffet, dishes on the table with trivets underneath and serving spoons alongside, and then everything is done.

As we all take a moment to admire the picture-perfect table, Amanda takes a picture. Two families' worth of tradition sits in blended splendor, and all I can think is...this is my future. My mother's gravy boat and turkey platter, the china plates Robert inherited from his father. Well, claimed when his father got rid of 90% of his belongings and moved to a tropical condo. The green bean casserole Amanda grew up with, the stuffing Val's mother made. The rolls I learned desperately at my mother's side, directions scrawled in pencil on lined paper in my childish handwriting because I would never get another chance to learn the recipe. Mashed potatoes in a hand-painted bowl inherited from Robert's mother's mother. This is what Thanksgiving will be from now on, the merging of my broken family and Robert's, a new whole forged from the pieces left behind.

And I'm okay with that.

I sneak a glance at Robert and find him looking at the table about the same way I'm sure I've been looking at it. He sneaks a glance at me, and for a heartbeat it seems inevitable that we kiss, but instead we hug and I breathe in the scent of his skin, my cheek pressed against his neck, feeling the scratch of stubble under my ear as Robert tucks his chin against my shoulder.

Amanda takes another picture.

"I want a copy," Robert growls without moving.

"Five bucks," she retorts. "Photo paper's expensive."

Then she directs us to stand against the wall and fiddles with camera and tripod for a moment. Val moves into the shot at her gesture, another second of fiddling, and she joins us with a command to smile.

I think of spending Christmas with Robert and Val, and smile. The camera goes off.

Amanda darts over to check the shot and grins. "Perfect. I'm gonna get this framed before I leave," she declares.

Robert and I exchange another melting almost-kiss look. But Val's looking a little misty herself at the idea of a framed picture of our new blended family, even though we're not...really...official yet.

Well, I suppose it's sort of inevitable, isn't it? I mean, Robert and I don't talk about it but we both know...

Stop it, Jack. There will be plenty of time to think about it later. Right now, it's time to make Robert blush by holding the chair out for him and revel in how happy your daughters are and stuff yourself silly on good food and family feels.

Smiling, I make my way around the table and pull out a chair. "We should dig in before it gets cold," I say, getting everyone's attention. "Rob?"

He blushes at the broad grins our daughters are giving him, but he comes around the table and sits. Like a gentleman, I push his chair in and then seat myself. Hands are held out, mine to Amanda's across the table, Robert and Val looking vulnerable but pleased as they squeeze each other's hands gently, and I nod to her.

"We give thanks for this delicious food," she says almost shyly, "and for the friends and family both present and absent. May we have even more to be thankful for next year."

"A- _men_ ," Amanda announces, grinning at me and then Robert. "Like, say, a wedding."

Now we're both blushing. Again.

"Dig in, everyone," I say despite my face being on fire, and we all scramble to load our plates.

 

* * *

 

Afternoon is lazy, couch-cuddling and napping with a movie in the background while everyone digests. Then it's putting leftovers away and the girls insisting that Robert and I relax while they do the dishes - I suspect they just want to see us cuddle some more - and they bring us pie and egg nog when they're done. The subject of Christmas comes up: if Val can visit and for how long, who wants what as a gift, family traditions for stockings and under-tree presents, what to have for breakfast and dinner, and whose house it should be at considering space for the tree. Dinner is mostly snacking, deviled eggs and pickles, olives and little turkey-on-a-roll sandwiches washed down with the remnants of the sparkling grape juice. And, of course, more pie. Amanda puts on another movie, but Robert falls asleep halfway through and snores gently on my shoulder.

"Gonna crash in Val's hotel room," Amanda says quietly, muting the TV as the credits roll. "Tell Knife Dad I love him. Will text when I'm awake. Love you, Dad."

"Love you too, Panda," I tell her just as quietly. "Have a good night, you two. Love you, Val."

Val looks startled to be included in the ritual. "Thanks, Jack. Tell my dad I love him. We'll see you tomorrow."

Gingerly, they leave the house and close the door gently. I adjust Robert to be leaning more comfortably against me and settle in to nap with him.

 

* * *

 

An unhappy grumble wakes me, and I grumble unhappily back.

"Jack?" Robert asks sleepily.

"Mmm?"

The warm weight that had been pressed against me shifts, and I open my eyes. Robert is rubbing his eyes. Night has fallen. The TV is playing the DVD's menu clip silently. "Val and Manda say they love you," I tell him muzzily. "They're spending the night in the hotel."

"I fell asleep on you," he replies eloquently.

That makes me smile softly. "Yeah, you did. 'S okay, I don't mind. Was cute."

Robert blushes slightly. "Today was good," he says, changing the subject. "First time I haven't spent Thanksgiving drunk in...years. Happiest I've ever seen Val on the day."

I lean over and cuddle against his shoulder the way he was slumped against mine. "Just think," I murmur, "we get to do that again next year."

An arm slides around me. "We should both go to bed," he murmurs back, "but I think it should be in different houses tonight."

That makes me frown sleepily. "Why?"

The arm tightens. "Because I want to do things that will make me happy right now but feel bad in the morning, and I want to do them _very badly_. I need the temptation out of my reach because I'll mess this up, Jack, and I can't let that happen."

I know what he means, because the desire to kiss his neck is nearly overwhelming. "Okay. Separate houses." Reluctantly, I sit up and stretch. Then I smile shyly at him. "I'm a temptation?"

The flush that spreads over Robert's cheeks is all the answer I need. I stand up and move away from the couch before turning back. Grinning with delight, I make a heart out of my hands and hold it over my chest.

"Sleep well, Rob. I'll see you in the morning."

The look Robert gives me is _molten_ , but he mirrors my gesture. "Sleep well, Jack. See you in the morning."

The brief walk home feels like I'm floating through the night sky.

 

* * *

 

Friday is lazy, grazing on leftovers and making more solid plans for Christmas. Amanda will be here the entire time, of course, relaxing from her first "real" semester in college since apparently according to her, the community college courses don't count. Val hems and haws a little about if she can make it, but seeing Robert avert his gaze from her makes her stop and stare. When she's got her thoughts together again, she promises she'll drive over on Saturday the 23rd and then go back to Brooklyn on Thursday the 28th. Robert looks tentatively hopeful at that, and Val hugs him.

"You get Christmas," she tells him sternly, "but I'm spending New Year's with my girlfriend."

Saturday, she and Amanda engage in a round of good-bye hugs and I-love-you ritual before bundling into Val's sleek sports car and driving off.

"Amanda's likely to have a New Year's party to go to," I tell Robert as we go back inside. "Does the cul-de-sac do anything, or do we need to make plans?"

Robert snorts. "Just wait. The Victorians were _all about_ New Year's. It's basically the neighborhood Christmas after the fact."

"I look forward to that, then," I tell him, smiling.

He looks away. "I've got...something planned the morning of the thirty-first. It's kind of a surprise."

I hug him. "Then I won't ask."

 

* * *

 

Sunday night, Mary weaves her way over to my house with a bottle she's already been working on.

"I'm ready," she tells us with a frazzled air about her. "I need to get out, I'm going to go crazy. Find me a job, even if it's just doing Craig's busywork or answering phones for Brian."

We spend the evening calming her down, which means one part commiserating, one part making plans, and two parts listening to her rant and sometimes cry in frustration over Joseph 'honoring and cherishing' her as a wife and the mother of his children while also disregarding her wants and needs as a person. I text Craig, Robert confers with Brian, and we finally send Mary home with the agreement that she'll come over tomorrow for lunch and I'll start teaching her the things I do for Craig's business.

Robert seems pensive as we settle in on the couch.

"I'm glad she's finally realized she needs to get out of there," he says quietly. "I'm just worried what Joseph will say to her when he figures out she's making plans."

It's a valid worry. I know all too well what damage words can do.

Monday, the cul-de-sac wakes up to discover that not only did it snow overnight, but it's _still_ snowing. Robert, Craig, and I break out our shovels and forego our morning jog to clear driveways and sidewalks instead. The egg nog French toast I make for breakfast after that is doubly appreciated. The snow's piled up a bit more when Mary comes over, so Robert goes back out to give my sidewalk a piece of his mind while I start training my replacement.

Once the door closes behind him, though, she turns to me and says urgently, "I need your help."

"With what?" I answer, more than a little alarmed.

"Rob's birthday. He doesn't like a huge fuss, and I don't think anyone else even knows when it is, but I had a little tradition where I'd take him to Jim and Kim's and buy his drinks."

And, of course, he's gone sober.

"But that's not all," she continues before I can suggest something else. "Your girl's coming home for the holidays, I take it?"

I nod.

"And Rob's going to spend them with you, I bet." When I nod again, she nods grimly back. "His birthday's the twenty-seventh. Of December," she clarifies, since today is the 27th of November.

"Val's going to be here," I blurt. "I wondered why she was waiting until the twenty-eighth to drive back, but..."

Mary looks pleasantly astonished. "He's not going to be alone. Oh, thank god. But I still don't know what to do for his birthday now that he doesn't drink anymore."

"I'll get in touch with Val and confer with her," I promise. That gets me a relieved hug. "Now, let's get started on getting you settled in with Craig's busywork."

 

* * *

 

It takes a bit of texting back and forth with Val before she hits on the idea of making "his favorite cookie", one his Italian grandmother used to make and that he hasn't had since she was a little girl because neither Robert nor his father are much for cooking. Val inherited her Nonna's recipes and although she’s never attempted this one, she's sure that between the two of us, we can make them without screwing up. She texts me a picture of the handwritten recipe, and I'm halfway through writing it out (because faded spidery handwriting isn't the easiest thing to read) when I realize that rum balls _have actual rum in them_.

CALL NOW, I text Val. Moments later, my phone rings.

" _What's wrong?_ " she asks sharply.

"These have rum in them, Val."

" _They're rum balls, that's kind of the signature ingredient._ "

"Your father doesn't drink anymore."

There's a pause. " _But it's only half a cup..._ "

"And where's the rest of the bottle?" I ask, trying to keep the question from becoming a demand. "Robert said, when we were talking about Thanksgiving, that you were right to be suspicious of foods with alcohol in them because he'd he drinking the rest."

" _We'll pour it out_ ," she says. " _They're going to be a surprise anyway; he'll never know_."

"That still leaves us offering him food with alcohol in it. That's a shitty thing to do to someone wrestling with sobriety, Val, even if it's a relatively small amount. I won't be a part of that unless he's okay with it."

The silence after that stretches for a minute and a half.

" _He's really serious about not drinking,_ " she says in a small voice. " _I didn't think...I thought he was just being on his best behavior, or going dry until he learned what moderation meant._ "

"That time in September was the only time he's had so much as a drop between when he decided to quit in July and now," I tell her somberly.

" _Holy shit. Now I feel like an ass. He's really serious. Jack, we have to do something special for him_."

Phone in hand, I wander over to my cooking cabinet and take down a small, dark bottle. "Give me a week. Let me experiment with using imitation rum flavoring, and I'll get back to you."

" _Good luck, Jack. Text if you need anything, and I'll text if I think of anything._ "

"Thanks, Val. Take care. Love you."

I can hear her breathing hitch. " _Love you too, Jack_."

Bottle in hand, I go back to the table and finish copying out Nonna's rum ball recipe. It's time to _google_.


	16. Don we now our...sweaters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The best presents are the ones you can't wrap. The sweaters are a very close second, though.

December flies by way too fast for my liking. It takes me two batches - and two weeks - to get the rumless rum balls right. I have to make them secretly, and I dispose of them at the youth group meetings. Thankfully, the third attempt gets thumbs up all around, including from Joseph. Robert and I spend more than one afternoon shopping together, although we split up to shop for each other. We don't care if the girls are adults, they're getting stockings and that means stocking stuffers. It winds up being an assortment of festive socks, gloves, candy, and little gadgets and gizmos like keyring flashlights and phone stands and whatnot. Robert re-arranges his living room to account for the live tree he brings in, and we spend an unexpectedly snowy day wrapping all the stocking stuffers and decorating the tree with ornaments from both of our families.

Amanda and Val both get texted pictures of the tree and their stockings. Val isn't as unabashedly enthused as Amanda is, but we can tell that she's touched.

Finding gifts for the other dads is a challenge, even if they're only going to be small-ish gifts because...well...when you add the residents of the cul-de-sac up, it turns out to be kind of a lot of people to shop for. I find a nice cookbook for Brian, pre-pay for Mat's next three album purchases from Vinyl Fantasy, make Craig a coupon for an afternoon watching River, that sort of thing. Shopping for Robert is tougher, but I do find a big red sweater that's so soft, it's like petting a kitten. I also succumb to whimsy and make him a couple of coupons for things like a batch of chocolate cookies just for him, a 2am Dover Ghost hunting session, an afternoon at the beach, breakfast in bed, and a Hawaiian pizza.

Joseph, Mary, and at least three of their four children spend most of the month involved in the annual church play, which is kind of a relief. Joseph hasn't given up making hopeful courting gestures in my direction, and it's obvious enough that the youths and I had a second talk about sexuality because I got straight-up asked if I was into men. I can only imagine it was out of secondhand embarrassment from watching a married man hit on a widower. But it's a good chance to touch more directly on bi- and pansexuality, demi- and asexuality, and the difference between sexual and romantic interest. I don't go into _too_ much detail about my personal history, but I do tell them that despite my marriage, I've only felt sexual attraction for one person and yes, he is male. There's a lot of meaningful not-quite-looks at Joseph when I say that, and I add that since he's not here, I won't say anything more because it wouldn't be right to talk about him behind his back.

A lot of not-looking-at-Joseph goes on the rest of that evening. When I tell Mary and Robert about it, they laugh and hoot for a good handful of minutes.

Mary takes to Craig's busywork like she was born for it, and he starts giving her more to do. Whatever she's doing, it's apparently really good for the company. She tells us smugly that she's downplayed it to Joseph as just helping Craig with a few things, and that it's a piece of cake for her to hide her earnings because she's the one who does the family finances anyway. She still wants out of her marriage, but she wants to build up a bit of savings first and having a functional, productive outlet for her stress is helping not just with her sanity, but with her drinking. She still drinks, just not like a fish.

Amanda drives up Monday the 18th, her SUV packed full of all her things. She did her shopping before she left, but didn't get a chance to wrap. I hand over the remnants of my wrapping paper rolls and she holes up in her room until dinner. Or rather, until Robert comes over with a bag of Chinese food and a bottle of Sprite.

With my daughter home to help, I can get the holiday baking out of the way. Gingerbread and sugar cookies are baked, decorated, and sealed in plastic bags. Peanut butter kiss cookies - or the ones that survive being eaten warm, anyway - are likewise tucked away. Chocolate chip cookies with little red, green, and white chips are baked in a triple batch and divvied up into stacks that get wrapped in plastic wrap and tied at the top with red, green, or white ribbons. They'll be our contribution to the New Year's party. Amanda curls the ribbons expertly with a pair of scissors, then eats a cookie or three in celebration. It turns out that she does _not_ have a party to go to because Emma R. is staying in California for the holidays (with her parents flying out to visit her) and Emma P. is going to be at her grandparents' house. I try to by sympathetic, but she's sure the neighborhood party will be better anyway.

Thursday's pizza night is _wonderful_ , me and Robert and Manda, my little family together again. Saturday, Val drives in and everyone's excitement level jumps to palpable levels. It's sinking in that this is really happening, we're really spending Christmas together as a family. Christmas Eve dinner could almost double as Italian night, manicotti and sausage and all the fixings with cheesecake (slathered in four kinds of fruit toppings, one for each quarter) for dessert. Amanda tells us about her semester and her plans for the spring semester. She's submitted a few pieces various places, and shyly she confesses that she wants to go back to her birth name for her professional work, prompting Robert and Val to ask what it is and why she's not using it. I suggest that she not only do that, but also take her mother's maiden name so she can keep her privacy. Fareeha Amari to the public, Amanda Morrison in private. Robert backs me up, as does Val, and my Panda looks a lot happier about her decision.

Combining the family traditions, the girls open their stockings after dinner rather than getting to unwrap one present and having the stockings _and_ the presents to open in the morning. There's some good-natured groaning over the fact that I wrapped small candy bars and individual pairs of socks, but they love that I went that extra step. Excitement over the trinkets in her stocking doesn't prevent Amanda from taking pictures of everything and everyone, including a cute shot of me and Robert sitting together on the couch.

There's some clearly-manufactured and insincere arguments about who should be allowed to sleep at Robert's house, the possibility of catching Santa in the act, and so on. All the food's in his house, either prepared or in pieces, and everyone's put their presents under the tree already, so it's not that bad of an idea. The arguments get unexpectedly settled when Amanda notices that it's started to snow. There's a scramble for pajamas, clothes, and toiletries and then we're all back in Robert's house trying to decide who sleeps where. Amanda slyly suggests I share his bed while they sleep on the couches, but Robert forcefully nixes that. In the end, the girls sleep on his bed while we sleep on the couches.

Of course, this means we couldn't sleep in on Christmas morning if we wanted to, but we're both used to getting up early to go jogging so we're actually up before either of our daughters. Robert puts on coffee while I get breakfast going - which, in this case, means I toss some toaster strudels in the toaster and open the box of danishes. Then we turn on the tree's lights and just bask in the warm, comforting glow, drinking coffee and nibbling on sweet things. The girls get up a little later, and while they're taking their turn with coffee and breakfast pastries, Robert and I gleefully pile their unopened presents around them. I fetch a garbage bag for the wrapping paper, and discover that Robert's piled our presents up on opposite sides of the other couch. I take empty mugs and plates back to the kitchen, and once I've sat down, Robert and Val nod at each other.

"Ready?" he asks challengingly.

"Set," she replies.

He grins at me and Amanda. "Go!"

The living room turns into gleeful chaos, paper flying everywhere and people shouting thanks and making sounds of excited joy as we all tear into our gifts. Val and Robert both got me a cookbook featuring nothing but strawberry recipes, but the amazing thing is that they're two _different_ cookbooks. Amanda is thrilled at the panda hoodie she got, complete with a panda-head hood, and Val practically tears up at a little painted statue of a cat that Robert gave her. There's a story there, but I'm not about to ask. When he opens the large, flat box from me and sees the fluffy red sweater, the first thing he does is press his face into it for a long minute. Then he puts it on before he does anything else. I'm all set to tease him when I open my box and discover that Amanda found the same sweaters and bought me the blue one I'd been coveting. I follow Robert's lead and waste no time in putting it on, and then we nuzzle each other's sweaters while our daughters take potentially incriminating pictures.

The rest of the morning, and the afternoon, is for board games and movies. We graze on cookies and nibbles - deviled eggs, pickles, olives, cheese and pepperoni and crackers - and never really have lunch. The ham goes in the oven before we put on a movie, and when the movie's over I take it out to glaze while Amanda springs into action putting the prepared gratin potatoes on to cook in one pot while Robert gets the broccoli going in another. Val sets the table while the glaze is crisping, and then the rolls go in while Robert carves the ham and gets it on a platter. The sides go in their serving bowls, the rolls go in their napkin-lined basket, and everything goes onto the table where Amanda takes pictures before giving me the go-ahead to announce that everyone can dig in.

The entire day has been so warm and intimate that it's no surprise when Robert goes for his boots and shovel so the girls and I can go back to my house for the night. I don't mind; I've nearly kissed him a dozen times today and I know it's been just as hard for him. Besides, I'll need to make my rumless rum balls and hide them so they have a chance to sit before the 27th.

Of course, that in no way stops us from talking on the phone after we've gone to bed. He initiates a facetime call and I turn on the bedside table's lamp to answer it. We lie down with the phones propped against spare pillows, giving the illusion that we're _almost_ in the same bed. Almost, he promises me. Soon, he'll get the green flag from his therapist. I reassure him that I'll wait as long as it takes. He promises to come by for breakfast in the morning, and I almost sign off with 'good night, sleep well, I love you' but catch myself at the last second. I'm pretty sure he knows what I almost said, though, because his expression is saying _I love you, too_ before we hang up.

 

* * *

 

After breakfast on the 26th, Val and Robert head out to his house for some serious talking, and I recruit Amanda to help me make the rum balls. Of course, that requires telling her _why_...

"Knife Dad's birthday is _tomorrow?_ " She gives me an affronted look. "That's a _horrible_ birthday."

"I didn't pick it, Manda Panda," I tease.

"You could have at least given me enough warning to make a card!"

"He doesn't want a fuss made, remember? Mary told me she had to ask his wife when his birthday was, he wouldn't even tell her. So we're not making a fuss, we're just doing something nice for him."

She thinks about that for a minute. "I'm making him breakfast tomorrow," she announces, throwing the words down like a challenge. "Get him to sleep over tonight. He can have breakfast in bed on the couch."

I give her a one-armed hug. "I like the way you think."

 

* * *

 

Although it seems premature, we spend the afternoon taking all the decorations down because it's still a family activity, and it gives us all a chance to share stories tied to this ornament or that. Afterwards, we hold a rather loud but heated snowball fight in his backyard. The teams are fluid - sometimes me and Robert against our girls, sometimes me and Amanda against Robert and Val, sometimes I team up with Val to pummel her father and at the end, it's just a free-for-all that has us all shivering and laughing as we troop into my kitchen to hang up sopping mittens, soaked coats, and assorted hats and scarves while water heats. Then it's hot cocoa for all, Val in the recliner with a blanket and a mug while Amanda and I sandwich Robert under the afghan.

"You're sleeping here tonight," I tell him firmly. "I'm not letting you put those wet things back on."

"Okay, Mr. Mom," he teases. The head on my shoulder suggests he's glad for the excuse.

I want to kiss his hair. I don't, but I do press my cheek against it and squeeze his hand under the blanket.

 

* * *

 

When I wander out in the morning, Val hands me a mug of coffee with a candy cane in it and presses one finger to her lips with a significant look in the direction of the couch.

Robert's still asleep. Oh my god, he's so cute I can't stand it. Absently, I drift across the living room to sit on the floor across the coffee table from him so I can watch him sleep like the hopelessly lovestruck sap I am. Whatever Amanda's cooking smells delicious, but I don't even care because my scruffy Italian prince is asleep and he looks so happy and peaceful that the only way this could possibly get any better is if he were sleeping with his head in my lap.

Eventually, Amanda comes out with a plate and Val follows her with a mug. Robert's coffee has been garnished with a shot of egg nog and a candy cane, I see when both plate and mug get set on the coffee table. Amanda's made chocolate-chip pancakes with eggs and bacon, and watching Robert stir as the scents tickle his nose makes me feel like I'm going to burst with happiness. His eyes focus on me first, and he smiles so warmly and gently that I'm going to melt into the carpet.

"What's the occasion?" he asks warily as he levers himself up and reaches for the coffee.

Amanda gives him an innocent look. "I need an occasion to show off my cooking skills?"

"Then why is everyone looking at me?" he counters affectionately.

"Because you're the best one to tell me how my cooking is compared to Dad's," she lies easily.

He gives her a skeptical look. When she doesn't crack in three seconds, he shakes his head, grinning. "I'll allow it." He cuts a bite of pancake and does an exaggerated taste-test routine on it. "You have learned well," he says once he's swallowed. "Good job, Panda. _Now_ can I eat without everyone staring at me?"

Amanda and Val disappear back into the kitchen. Val comes out long enough to hand me a plate of my own, and then with a wink she goes back to eat with Amanda. Robert shoots me a few glances as I set my plate and mug on the coffee table, and then he comes around to sit next to me. I don't say anything, but I lay my head on his shoulder for a few seconds.

"I could learn to like this time of year," he says quietly as we drink our coffee.

"Just imagine how amazing it will be next year," I tell him, smiling.

His cheeks turn pink. I'm pretty sure I know what he's imagining.

 

* * *

 

After breakfast, we grab boots, coats, hats, and mittens. While Amanda and Val shower and get dressed, Robert and I clean up our walks and driveways, then double-team anything unshoveled on the cul-de-sac. He goes to his house to shower and change, I go home to do the same, and then our daughters challenge us to a board game which occupies everyone until lunch. The leftovers are at Robert's, but I volunteer to get out cold cuts and make sandwiches.

"Oh no," I announce unconvincingly as I pull the tupperware container of rum balls (rolled in chocolate sprinkles) out of the fridge. "We must have forgotten these!" I set the container on the table in front of Robert. "Guess we better eat them now."

Robert arches one eyebrow at me before opening the container, and then he freezes as the aroma hits his nose. "Jack..." he utters in a strangled voice.

"It's okay, Rob," I tell him soothingly. "You can have them."

"But..."

"Imitation rum extract. No alcohol."

With trembling fingers he plucks a rum ball out and takes a bite. His eyes close in bliss as he chews and swallows, but they don't open again. Before I can ask, I see the tears on his cheeks and then Val and I are hugging him while he buries his face in my shoulder and cries quietly.

"Mary told me," I murmur into his ear. "She knew you wouldn't be alone but she wanted to make sure someone acknowledged your birthday."

"I told him about Nonna's rum balls," Val says from his other side. "I inherited her recipe book and found the recipe. He wouldn't make them unless he could make them without actual rum."

Amanda drapes awkwardly over at least two of us. "I helped make them. Happy birthday, Knife Dad."

"I don't deserve this," Robert whispers through his tears. "I don't deserve _any_ of you."

"Tough shit, old man," Val says darkly. "You should have thought about that before you stopped being a drunken asshole."

Robert's startled laugh sounds more like he's choking, but it gets us all laughing and he's able to lift his head and smile at all of us. "You're the best bunch of sneaky little delinquents a drunken asshole could ask for. Thank you, all of you."

I'm grinning fit to break my face. "This is revenge for _my_ birthday," I tell him. "Now shut up and stuff my delicious balls in your mouth."

...wait...I missed a word. _Rum_ balls. Fuck. I can feel my entire face turning red.

Luckily, Robert's blushing too hard to notice. Amanda's covering her face, and Val's holding shrieking laughter in with both hands while her eyes dance.

"I'm...gonna make sandwiches," I mutter, and retreat to stick my face in the fridge for a bit.

 

* * *

 

By the time lunch is over, everyone's recovered from my Freudian slip and feeling restless, but not masochistic enough to want to have another snowball fight. Amanda suggests making a snowman. Robert suggests making a giant snow penis. I veto that on the grounds that Joseph's kids shouldn't have to suffer the uncomfortable talk Joseph's likely to have with them when they ask about it. Through his laughter, he agrees with me. Then Val proves that she's her father's daughter and points out that the kids won't be able to see over the fence in the backyard, but Joseph will.

After that, it's sort of inevitable that we spend the afternoon building a giant snowcock in the backyard. A surprisingly lively debate springs up as to whether it will be uncircumcised (verdict is no), whether it will have testicles (verdict is yes), and what the ideal length-to-girth ratio is. I'm fairly certain that some parties are arguing experience rather than aesthetics on that last point, but I try my best to not think about it. Due to the fact that none of us have ever done this before and our technique is not exactly professional, it's not the prettiest penis ever sculpted. Amanda takes it upon herself to improve that with sculpted snow veins.

When we're finally done, Robert stands back and admires it, mittened hands on his hips. "Now _that's_ a snowcock," he declares in satisfaction. "It looks good. I'd fuck that." A beat later, he says, "No, I wouldn't. That would be cold as hell. Let's go inside."

Laughing, we traipse inside and warm up while discussing where we want to go for dinner. Now that everyone knows that everyone knows it's Robert's birthday, we want to go somewhere but in the end, he gets the final vote and we go out for fresh brick-oven pizza. "Because Val won't be here for pizza night," he says as we all pile into my car. Dinner is delightfully casual, and we all take turns hugging Robert when I park in his driveway. Quietly, he asks me to call when I'm settled in bed, and I agree.

The girls turn in early because Val's leaving in the morning, and Robert and I talk for close to an hour. We swap stories of our birthdays and the little rituals we created for ourselves and talk about what we'd like to happen on our birthdays in the future.

Seeing Val off in the morning is more cheerful that I think any of us expected it to be, but she and Robert have really reconnected over the last few days and the newness of that negates any disappointment at seeing her go. We _all_ do the I-love-you ritual, and she hugs Robert extra long before climbing into her car and driving off.


	17. Good omens for the new year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The new year is a time of new beginnings. Out with the old, in with the new. 
> 
> No one was expecting this omen.

The few days until New Year's Eve are a surreal reflection of the summer, with Amanda and the neighborhood kids bonding while Robert and I spend time with their dads. Christmases are compared, gifts are described to appreciative oohs and aahs, and everyone's looking forward to Sunday. Even the kids, to my surprise. The younger ones will nap during the afternoon so they can stay up to midnight, with the exceptions of Crish and River, but Damien is setting the auxiliary sitting room up as a quiet nap room. The fun starts at six sharp, with dinner served at seven and presents at nine.

Robert seems preoccupied and withdrawn, maybe a little anxious, the morning of the 31st. He picks at his breakfast and doesn't look at me or Amanda, but afterwards hugs me tightly and buries his face in my shoulder for a long minute.

"What's wrong?" I ask quietly, rubbing his back with one hand, the other tight around his waist.

"Nothing," he mutters. "Just taking a big step with this thing I'm doing."

At the last second I do _not_ kiss any part of him when I turn my head.

"I support you completely, Rob. You know that. Is there anything I can do?"

His arms tighten like he wants to say _yes_. "I want it to be a complete surprise for everyone."

"And you don't know that everyone will like it?"

Robert snorts. "If they don't like it, they can go fuck themselves. As long as _you_ like it, I'll be happy."

With another heroic application of willpower, I again do not kiss my scruffy Italian prince.

"Then I look forward to seeing it," I tell him warmly. "When...?"

I can feel him smile against my neck, stubble scratching gently, and I think my knees are going to give out. "Just after midnight," he promises softly. "Damien likes omens for the new year. I'm pretty sure he's going to have kittens over the one I've got planned."

"Well, at least Lucien isn't allergic to cats, too."

Robert lets go so he can laugh. "Oh, Jack, you're perfect. I needed that. Thank you."

"Any time, Rob!" I'm probably blushing, but I don't care. God, I love his laugh.

He looks like he's about to kiss the goofy grin off my face, but then he turns away. "I should...get going. Do the thing. I'll be in touch."

"Okay. Take care. Drive safe." When he turns around, I'm making a heart with my hands.

"Thank you. Stay safe." His hands are making a heart, too.

The instant the door's closed behind him, Amanda bursts out of the kitchen to hug me.

"Oh my GOD Dad you two are too cute! When's the wedding? Is he going to pop the question tonight?"

I laugh and hug her back. "We're still not even dating, Panda. He's still getting his head sorted out."

" _Please_ , Dad," she says with an eye-roll. "You two have _been_ dating, you just haven't been _kissing_. Or, y'know, saying _I love you_ out loud."

She has a point. Still...

"Trust me, sweetie, when Robert's ready...you'll know."

 

* * *

 

Since our gifts and foods (three different kinds of cookies, so many cookies) are wrapped and ready to go, I text Damien to see if he needs or wants help setting up. I WOULD BE MOST GRATEFUL FOR YOUR ASSISTANCE is the text I get back, so Amanda and I venture across the cul-de-sac with our bags of goodies, leaving a note on the whiteboard for Robert. Damien answers the door looking harried. His hair has been pulled roughly back, his face is flushed, and he's wearing broken-in jeans with a white button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His feet are bare and the fabric of his binder is moderately visible through the thin cloth of his shirt. It's the least-composed I've ever seen him.

As Amanda's gawking - this is her first time inside Damien's house - I hand her the bags I'm holding and pull Damien into my best Dad hug. He trembles for a moment before clinging to me, taking deep breaths.

"Thank you," he murmurs finally, and I let him go. "I am afraid that my culinary efforts are...not going according to plan this morning."

"Let me at them," I declare, bringing my fists up fisticuffs-style. "We'll show them not to mess with Queensbury."

Damien blinks. "Queensbury?"

I drop my fists, chuckling. "Sorry. It's a thing Robert does." That gets Damien chuckling as well, and I grin at him. "Seriously though, show me to the kitchen and tell me what's going on. If we can't find a way to fix it, I'm sure we can improvise."

"Uh..." Amanda rattles the plastic bags she's holding. "What about...?"

"Oh! Of course. Please wait here a moment and I'll have Lucien show you around. I will be right back," he assures us before hurrying up the stairs.

Moments later, he comes back down with Lucien trailing him.

"Hey, Mr. Mom," Lucien greets me. "You here to fix the disaster in the kitchen?"

Damien winces.

"I'm certainly going to do my best," I say firmly. "We brought gifts and cookies-"

"Oh, a good omen," Damien sighs in relief.

"-and Amanda's never been here. Could you show her where to put them and give her a tour, please?"

Lucien gives me a little smile. "I would be _delighted_ ," he says in what has to be his phone voice, bowing to Amanda. "Please, allow me to show you around our humble abode."

I flash him a thumbs-up and a grin, and he leads Amanda out of the room.

"His attitude has improved considerably since he started attending your youth group," Damien confesses. "He says that in a world of anger and cynicism, the most rebellious thing to be is kind."

Well, that's not me getting choked up at all. I blink rapidly to banish any tears.

"And that's exactly why I keep supervising youth group activities," I say quietly. Then I grin at him "Now. Let me at your kitchen."

 

* * *

 

It takes conferring with the internet and some culinary creativity, but we're able to argue the food into behaving...even if it's going to wind up in unanticipated configurations. I don't even realize how much time has passed until Lucien and Amanda shove foil-wrapped burritos at us, and then I realize Robert's leaning against the doorframe with a burrito of his own. His left hand - the one with the tattoo - is heavily bandaged, but when I meet his eyes with a worried look he just _smiles_ at me, like whatever he's done to himself is a gift and he can't wait to present it to me. Oh god, I'm so in love. Amanda was right, we _have_ been dating this whole time.

After our surprise lunch, Robert lends a hand while we get the feast ready for cooking. Without his left hand, he can't help as actively as he would have liked, but he opens doors, hands us things, and reads directions for us to follow. As the afternoon wears on - and once the ham and goose are in the oven - we take turns scampering off to shower and change into fancier clothes. Damien has loose, smocklike aprons to protect our clothes when we put various dishes on to cook or heat or just for transferring them to the very fancy china and silver dishes they'll be served in.

At six on the dot there's a knock on the door and Damien - now looking bright-eyed and _very_ composed, flings his smock off to practically fly over to the foyer. Robert and I follow in our matching kitten-soft sweaters, and the long sleeves of his sweater completely hide the bandages on his hand. Damien throws the front door open and _everyone's_ there. There's a cheery, confused roar of 'Merry Christmas' as everyone shouts their greetings and then files inside, brightly-colored packages stacked in hands or piled into bags. The tree has been set up in the parlor, and when everyone's added their gifts to the pile it looks _impressively_ festive. There's dishes of various nuts and nutcrackers, assorted old-fashioned sweets, and of course the cookies Amanda and I baked. A sidebar holds a wide variety of soft drinks and juices as well as a bucket of ice complete with ice tongs. A separate sideboard holds alcohols, but Robert goes for the juice and mixes himself something that's half Sprite and half splashes of multiple fruit juices. Then he rakes the room with a challenging look, daring anyone to comment, but no one does.

He retreats to the corner of the room anyway, shooting dark looks in Joseph's direction. I pour myself a Coke, add some juice for flavor, and go over to him.

"You okay?" I ask quietly.

He grunts. "I'm not gonna screw this up. But it's hard, Jack. It's _right there_ and I'm the only one..."

"You're not alone, Rob," I say when he trails off. "You and me. I'm with you. If you need support, come to me. Or let Amanda know. Or Lucien."

Robert relaxes slightly. "Heh. Does he know...?"

"I haven't told him and I don't know if Damien did, but it's not hard to put two and two together."

"You mean I was a whiskey-soaked asshole rolling in my own filth."

I give him a stern look, and he looks guiltily away.

"I was, Jack," he says softly. "I'm not anymore, but that's what I was. If I let myself forget that, I risk going back to it."

"Remembering doesn't mean punishing yourself," I tell him gently. "Joseph making you nervous?"

Jerkily, Robert nods.

"You're not alone, remember. Hugo and Brian and Mat all know you're not drinking anymore. Mary knows. Damien knows. Start a conversation with someone if you think Joseph's going to try to talk to you. They're your friends, Rob. They'll help you."

Robert's relaxing again. "I needed that reminder," he says quietly. "I'm too used to shutting people out. Something to work on for the new year, huh?"

Shyly, he smiles at me and oh my god I want to kiss him _so badly_. Shit. There isn't any mistletoe, is there? I look around.

Nope. No mistletoe. Good.

"Jack?"

"Checking to make sure there's no mistletoe."

Robert chuckles. "There's not. Let's just say there was an unfortunate mistletoe incident two or three years back and Damien decided that for everyone's sake, this was one Victorian tradition he would forgo."

That sounds like one hell of a story, but this is not the time or place to ask about it.

"Shall we see if our honored host requires assistance in the kitchen?" I ask instead.

That sweet, gentle smile is my reward. "Yes, let's."

Arm in fuzzy-sweater-covered arm, we stride out of the parlor.

 

* * *

 

Although Damien has an impressive dining room with an equally-impressive table, it only (only!) seats 12 and the entire population of the cul-de-sac - babies included - is almost twice that. Some sit at the table, some take food to the parlor, and some retreat to the sitting room to eat. Aside from the ham and the duck, there's a cold sweet potato pudding, a kind of Victorian potato salad, little balls of mashed potatoes rolled in breadcrumbs and fried, a root vegetable gratin, steamed peas, little loaves of bread that have been shaped into ducks before baking, and a cheese-and-crackers platter. There's a fruit tray (although it's a little heavy on citrus), a cold pudding that has a bunch of chopped fruits and nuts in it, and an actual plum cake that's more like a sort of edible fruitcake bread shaped into a long loaf.

With two hours before we do presents, we load our plates and drift around - singly or in small groups - socializing. Robert is still clearly on edge, so I make sure to be in the same room both in case he needs support and to keep an eye on him because even though he turns firmly away, he _has_ been eyeing the alcoholic drinks. Looking up and seeing me seems to relax him, not to mention the warm smiles we exchange from across the room, and I feel like _everyone_ knows just how emotionally intimate we are despite being Disney-safe. Joseph, thankfully, is too busy keeping his kids herded to pay much attention to us.

At the stroke of nine, Damien comes through and herds us all into the parlor where he recruits Briar and Hazel to help pass out presents since Christian and Christie are napping. It's a chaotic, domestic mess with the twins bickering and then suddenly competing, Daisy and Ernest jumping in to try to organize who gets a present next or pinch-hit for one of the twins when the present they grab happens to be for them. There's wrapping paper everywhere, scattered comments of envy or appreciation, and bows that get pressed to other people's heads. Robert, tucked protectively into a corner between me and the door, gets somehow quieter and more vulnerable with each present delivered proudly into his hands. The veritable sea of smiling faces waiting happily for his reaction encourages him.

It surprises me at first, seeing everyone surprised and delighted at Robert. But then I remember the early days, the surly, prickly, drunk Robert, and I realize that they're not surprised, they're _relieved._ It's not that the neighbors are having trouble believing that Robert has come out of his shell, or that they haven't seen soft, squishy Robert before. It's that they haven't seen soft, squishy Robert _in so long_ and they're happy that he's come back. Makes me think of something Damien said back in the spring - that I'm like the sunlight, gently encouraging branches that seem dead into putting forth new leaves and flowering.

There's a tense moment when Robert opens the box from Joseph and Mary and it's Crown Royal box, but Mary urges him to open it and the bottle has been emptied, dried, and refilled with tiny, amber-colored jelly beans she assures him are cream soda flavored. The room breaks into laughter and applause at that, although Joseph seems surprised. Daisy thrusts a present at me next, and it's also from Mary and Joseph. This time, there's no subtlety - just bags of tiny jelly beans in half a dozen different flavors including the rest of the cream soda, pina colada, and three different strawberry-centric flavors. I hug the box to my chest in an exaggerated territorial display, eliciting more laughter that crests as Robert gives me _devastatingly_ effective puppy eyes, holy shit, scruffy Italian prince looking dejected, that's not fair, since when has he been able to do that? I want to kiss him, I need to kiss the look off his face and turn that frown upside down but I can't, and my face is on fire aaaaand Robert is holding my box of jelly beans.

I pout at him. _He_ looks like he needs to kiss the look off of _my_ face, and then he smiles and hands the box back. Hugging the box again, I hide my face in his shoulder because my ears are on fire but I can still hear at least one quiet _awwwww_ coming from somewhere and I'm _not looking_.

Once the last present has been opened, there's a flurry of cleaning up the assorted wrapping and packaging material and then a quiet hum as people explore their gifts in more detail. Robert and I consolidate the cream soda jelly beans and sample all the flavors, carefully resisting the urge to feel them to each other because oh, that would be temptation I'm not sure either of us could resist.

Midnight's less than half an hour away when Robert quietly slips out for a clove or two. I join him on Damien's front porch, breathing in the scents of clove smoke and snow, admiring the clear night and reveling in our comfortable silence. A few minutes before midnight, Damien pokes his head out to remind us what time it is. I go back inside with him, promising Robert that I'll have a cup of cocoa waiting for him since he's opted to stay out for another minute or two.

Everyone gathers in the foyer, where the antique clock slowly ticks away the seconds to the new year. I hang towards the back, so I can hand Robert his cocoa, but as the final seconds of the final minute count down, I find myself focused on the time along with everyone else. I don't know for sure who started it, possibly Daisy or Chris, but we're all counting out loud.

"...nine...eight...seven...six...five...four... _three! Two! One!_ HAPPY NEW YEAR!"

As the clock strikes midnight, before the echoes of our shouting have even faded, the front door opens and Robert steps smugly inside.

"A dark-haired man was the first to cross the threshold!" Damien cries joyfully. "A good omen for the new year!"

Robert picks at the medical tape holding the bandages to his hand. "I've got a better one," he announces.

With a flourish, he pulls the bandages off and holds his left hand up. The weird circle-with-wiggly-lines tattoo he seemed so uncomfortable with has been transformed into a beautiful blue flower that looks almost like a stylized sun, only...blue. An appreciative collection of gasps and inhalations rises like a flock of startled birds that settle back to earth as _ooohs_ and _aaaahs_. Damien threads his way through the crowd to bend over Robert's hand, carefully not touching the fresh tattoo, and examine it.

"Cornflower?" he asks, so quietly that only Robert and I can hear it. When Robert nods, Damien covers his mouth with both hands and seems to be blinking back tears. "It's gorgeous," he says, the words muffled and unsteady. "My friend, this is the best omen of all."

"New year," Robert says, eyes sliding towards me, not trying to hide his words but not raising his voice either. "Time for new beginnings. Out with the old, in with the new."

My eyes are locked on his, every iota of my being focused on _not_ handing the mug to Damien and kissing my scruffy Italian prince. I have no idea what expressions everyone else might be wearing, but I can hear Amanda making a high-pitched _eeeee_ sound and I think that's Brian's deep _awwww_. Wordlessly, I offer Robert the hot cocoa and he takes it, breaking eye contact to sip and hum in contentment at the warmth of the mug and the liquid. That breaks the spell of silence, and all of a sudden everyone's chattering and bustling around collecting children and gifts.

"I guess the party's over," I half-ask Robert, drifting with him into the corner.

"Pretty much," he answers.

"The tattoo is gorgeous. I love it," I add, remembering Robert telling me that so long as I liked it, he didn't care what anyone else thought.

Tension bleeds out of his posture and he smiles shyly at me, oh no, I'm going to melt.

"It used to be a reminder of...a mistake," he says quietly, eyes dropping to his left hand. "Now it's a reminder that even the ugliest thing can turn into something beautiful. When I look at my hand, I don't see the mistakes of my past anymore. I see the beautiful future I'm working towards." He looks up at me and I am absolutely going to die, help. "I see hope."

Fortunately, because every cell in my body is making heart eyes at Robert and there's no way I can respond coherently, Mat bounces over to check out Robert's tattoo and compare experiences. I slip off to find the bags we brought things in, and load them up with the things we're bringing home. Amanda's holding court in the sitting room, telling Lucien and Carmensita and Daisy all about college. She flashes me a thumbs-up when I heft my bag of presents and point at my wrist. I pack Robert's gifts into a bag for him and head back to the foyer, where Mary's admiring his new ink while Joseph stands by the door, holding a squirming Crish and looking irritated. Finally, she gives Robert a careful hug and her impatient husband herds her and his other three children out and into the night.

"You okay?" I ask quietly as Robert comes over to claim his bag.

He looks at the flower on his left hand, then looks up at me. "Yeah. If anyone had told me, last New Year's, that I'd be sober and happy at the next New Year's party...I'm pretty sure I would have punched them."

"Even if it had been me?" Damien asks, walking up with a cup of punch in one hand and a gingerbread cookie in the other.

Robert gives him a teasing grin. "Even you. Hey, I don't make the rules. Talk to Queensbury."

Damien looks momentarily taken aback, but then he smiles. "If I had known, last year, what would come to pass...I would have borne that blow gladly. Thank you, as always, for indulging my New Year threshold superstition."

"Glad to help," Robert says, looking pleased.

Amanda comes up with Lucien. "Hey Dad, we're gonna shoot off fireworks in the street for a while. Take my stuff back for me?"

"Alright." I take the bag she thrusts at me, and then hug her awkwardly. "Be safe. I love you."

"I will," she tells me. "Love you too."

We make our goodbyes to Damien, thanking him for the amazing party, and follow Amanda and Lucien outside. I walk Robert home, and the looks we give each other at his doorstep quite clearly add an unspoken _I love you_ when I say, "Sleep well" and an _I love you, too_ when Robert says, "You too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In folklore, cornflowers were worn by young men in love; if the flower faded too quickly, it was taken as a sign that the man's love was not returned.


	18. SHOW ME UR CRYPTID

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robert gets pictures of a cryptid. It's a very satisfying experience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've been wondering about that "mild sexual content" tag, this is the chapter.

Despite the frequent snowstorms, the first half of January feels like it's simmering with warmth. Maybe it's because I know whatever bad memories Robert's old tattoo brought up, he's discarded them and is focusing on a future where we can give in to temptation because we know that whatever we do, we'll still feel good in the morning. The other dads are immensely grateful for our early-morning shovel shenanigans, and life goes back to its usual rhythm as the kids return to school after the holiday break. Joseph complains exactly once about the snowcock, but I tell him as casually as I can manage that Robert insisted on modeling it after a dick he was intimately familiar with, and that shuts him up. Amanda packs up and heads back out to Horne, texting me her progress as she goes. She'd jokingly demanded that Robert and I refrain from "getting into the kissy stuff" until she's back for spring break, but Robert told her solemnly that he makes no promises.

He stays with me, sleeping on the couch when night falls, both days my daughter is on the road. I can tell that he's ready to leap into action if the grey purgatory beckons, but it doesn't take me - something he tells Amanda with pride when she calls to say that she's in her hotel and will be checking into her dorm in the morning.

The last two weeks of January are comfortable, familiar routine - jogging, Italian night, trivia night, pizza night, snowy walks in the cemetery, movies and tea. There some new additions. Namely, snowball fights with a variety of participants after every fresh snowfall and little doggie booties so we can keep walking the shelter dogs.

Valentine's Day, unsurprisingly, dominates conversation as soon as February arrives. The first falls on a Thursday, and over pizza, Mary confides to us that Joseph has a whole fancy dinner thing planned that she's going to have to smile and make nice and deal with, but they need to find a sitter willing to deal with the twins, Chris, and a toddler. Robert jokingly suggests we babysit them, teach the twins some new creepy things and put Crish on a leash like a dog, let him chew on a squeaky bone. Mary laughs and says she's tempted to let us.

Sunday, Joseph asks me if I'd be willing to watch his children so he can devote himself to his lovely wife on the fourteenth. I can't resist fucking with him just a little and protest that I don't know what my plans will be for that night, I have to check with Robert. And Brian. And Mat. And Hugo. And I should probably check with Craig and Damien while I'm at it. Joseph looks like he's trying not to recoil, and I promise that I'll get back to him in a few days. That night, while I'm garnishing three Cherry Sprites with cherries and little pineapple wedges stuck onto cocktail toothpicks shaped like tiny swords, I tell Robert and Mary about it. She laughs, but Robert looks solemn.

"I need to talk to my therapist," he says quietly. "Half of me wants to spend the night alone, to avoid fucking things up, but that doesn't seem like the healthiest way to handle the day."

"Watching my kids is the least romantic or sexual thing I can think of," Mary counters in a dry voice, making us laugh.

"You check with Lorraine," I tell Robert, offering him a glass, "and I'll check with everyone else and then we'll figure out _together_ what we're doing for V-day."

Robert thoughtfully eats the fruit off his tiny sword and salutes me with it. "Together."

Wait...no... "Rob, do-"

"Aye-aye-"

"-n't you da-"

"- _captain_."

I hide behind both hands. "I'm never watching _Pirates of the Caribbean_ with you again. Any of them."

Robert's laughter rings out, the light and happy stuff I hear so rarely. "I didn't say the whole thing," he teases.

"You made me think it!"

I can hear Robert's chair scrape as he stands, and then his arms slide awkwardly around me considering the kitchen chair I'm sitting on. Stubble against the back of my neck as he presses his cheek against my skin.

"I can make you think of something else," he offers in a low, lightly-accented voice.

_Ohhh, you touch my tra-la-la._

My cheeks are on fire, and it's spread to the tips of my ears. Robert's breath is warm against them as he laughs again, and then he goes back to his chair.

 

* * *

 

Craig is understandably unenthused about Valentine's Day, and would ideally like to be out of town where the single moms can't get any ideas...as long as he can find someone to watch the girls. River's mobile enough to be a challenge on her own, now, and the twins are...the twins. Damien is also looking to get out of the house, but for a different reason - Lucien has a date, gender undetermined, who he wants to show around the garden. Of the trivia group, only Brian has no baggage associated with the holiday, but being the designated driver for an out-of-town drinking party is something he's not opposed to doing...as long as someone can watch the kids.

And that's how Robert, Damien, and I wind up with the keys to the church's 'social programs' rooms and temporary guardianship over ten children.

To say the night is hectic is putting things mildly. By common consensus, I'm banished to the toddler room with River and Crish. Damien takes stewardship over Ernest, Chris, Briar, and Christie while Robert wrangles Christian, Hazel, Daisy, and Carmensita. Briar and Christie keep each other calmly occupied, and Chris does his best to isolate himself, but Ernest makes up for that all by himself. Likewise, Daisy and Carmensita are self-contained, but Christian and Hazel are a handful. Each. Halfway through the evening, I wind up with Daisy and Briar helping me keep the toddlers entertained, which is a relief. I don't ask what the other kids got up to, but when the dads (or at least, Brian and Joseph, since the others are...impaired) start arriving to claim their progeny, Robert looks like he needs a clove or three and _wants_ a stiff drink or five. Even Damien looks frazzled, and with relief he volunteers to take Craig's car and girls home. Joseph herds his four into the minivan, collects the keys, and locks up before heading out. Brian's already delivered Craig, Hugo, and Mat to their respective houses, so he takes Ernest, Carmensita, and Daisy and waves to us before driving them home.

That leaves me and Robert alone in the parking lot, just leaning against his truck and each other, enjoying the cool night air and the warmth of each other's bodies and, most importantly, the silence. Robert smokes a clove and I revel in the scents of clove smoke and leather.

"Let's go back," he says once he's ground the butt out.

He drives back to my house and we sit on the couch, arms around each other's backs, holding our free hands.

"You ever have a recurring dream?" he asks quietly after a few minutes. When I nod against his shoulder, he says, "I've been having one. Told Lorraine about it. She said I should talk to you about it because it...has to do with you, and me being vulnerable. And," he adds reluctantly, "I have a request."

Gently, I squeeze his hand. "Tell me about the dream?"

Robert sighs. "It starts out on a beach. I'm lying on a towel, and you come up with soft-serve ice cream cones. Vanilla for me, chocolate for you."

"Why-" I cut myself off. Dreams don't always make sense. "Sorry. Continue."

He snorts. "The way you lick the cone is...suggestive. _Very_ suggestive."

Oh. And with chocolate ice cream...and his skin tone...my cheeks start to heat up.

"Then you tell me that my ice cream has dripped on me, and it has, on my chest and my swim trunks..."

... _vanilla_ ice cream...the blush gets deeper.

Robert takes a deep breath. "And then the ice cream cones are gone and you're...uh...licking up the drips. And my trunks are also gone."

And now all I can think of is that I've never given a blowjob in my life and I hope I won't be disappointing when Robert's ready for that. Maybe I should get popsicles to practice on.

"So...vulnerable," I manage to choke out.

"Yeah." Robert's voice is rough. Like me, he's probably trying not to think about how easily I could actually get my head between his legs. And, like me, he's probably failing. "Jack...I don't let anyone do...that. I mean, when I did...you know I don't do _that_ anymore, either."

 _That_ being 'inviting men inside for one-night stands'. His hand is almost painfully tight around mine.

"So even when you were...engaging in casual sex...you never let anyone give you oral sex. And your therapist thinks that having a recurring dream about me...doing that...means you want to let yourself be vulnerable towards me."

"She's right," he says in a strangled tone. "But there's more."

More? What _more_ could there be?

"The last time...I realized it was a dream and...uh...acted on some impulses I've been throttling back."

I will not ask. I will _not_ ask.

"Did it feel good?" I ask instead. "When you woke up, I mean. Did it feel bad later?"

"No," he whispers, hugging me tight. "And that's...Lorraine wants me to work with the dream if it comes back. Use it as practice."

That makes sense. Let him get used to indulging in...urges...in a safe environment. "I support this idea."

"There's...a slight problem," Robert says reluctantly. "I don't have, uh, a full set of data. And Lorraine agrees it would be bad to have my subconscious fill in someone else's...data."

I'm suddenly sure of where this is going.

"You want to make sure I don't turn into someone else," I say quietly.

"Yeah."

"You need a...visual reference."

The silence stretches for a minute before Robert says sheepishly, "Can I have a dick pic?"

I'm so very tempted to just whip it out because the thought of Robert masturbating to fantasies of me giving him head is _hot_. But I know that's going to lead to ill-advised actions. Namely, sex on the couch. And at the same time, I want to support and encourage Robert opening up. That's the selfless side of me. The selfish side of me wants to know what Robert's junk looks like so I can masturbate to more accurate fantasies myself.

Slowly, I free myself and sit up.

"You need to go home," I tell Robert. Then, before his expression can fall, "And text me from your bedroom."

"Wh-"

"We need to be in separate houses to be sure temptation doesn't get the better of us," I explain, my cheeks feeling like they're on fire. "I, uh, want a visual reference, too."

And now we're both blushing.

"That's fair," Robert says. "I'll...just...go."

Eyes averted from each other, I head for my bedroom and he leaves the house. My clothes get left on the floor and I toss both pillows into a pile, phone in one hand and the other making sure my...subject...is ready for his close-up. Moments later, Robert texts.

SHOW ME UR CRYPTID

That makes me laugh. Just to be a pain, I make the first shot badly-lit and blurry.

I DESERVED THAT, he texts back.

The next shot is nice and clear, and he sends me one from the same angle. Oh god he has a happy trail. I want to follow it down to - I need to send him another one. I need to distract myself. He needs a full set of data. The third shot is from the side. Robert follows suit. It takes some work, but I give him a frontal shot and get one in return. It's so easy to imagine leaning forward into that picture. I want to reach in, to touch, to lick...

It's still Valentine's day, right? Attaching a positive association to the day is a good thing, right? It's not like we're actually going to touch each other. Things can't go any further. Call it a test drive.

Pulse pounding, I press the facetime button and aim the camera down my chest and between my legs. Then I find myself holding my breath until Robert picks up. I can see his hand, curled loosely around his shaft just like mine is.

" _Jack?_ " His voice is rough, his breathing heavy.

"You need a full set of data." My voice is rough, too. "It's Valentine's. I want...even though we're not...I want to do something nice for you."

My thumb caresses the sensitive seam where head meets shaft, and Robert's hand tightens.

"Full set of data," he breathes. "Yeah. I need to...hear you..."

He needs to hear me so that when he dreams about me, he can practice...

My hand moves up and down slowly.

...practice all the sexual things he wants to do to me.

A strangled moan slides out of me. If I hold the phone in front of...blocking the view...then it's almost like my hand is on his cock and his is on mine.

" _Oh, Jack, faster._ "

...I guess Robert's doing the same thing and _holy shit_ that's hot. I speed up, watching Robert's scarred hand.

"Rob. Harder."

He makes a moaning, begging sound. I swipe when he swipes. Our hands are in sync. Both of us pant and make needy sounds. This is _incredible_.

" _Jack..._ "

"I'm close..."

I can see him twitch. I'm not the only one who's close. His breath catches, stutters.

" _Jack...I'm..._ "

"Oh god, Rob!"

In unison, two jets of pale fluid arc up and two hands relax. My phone falls to the bed as the aftermath of the most intense orgasm of my life ravishes me.

What feels like both mere seconds and an eternity later, the phone rings and it's Robert calling. I force myself to move and pick it up, lift it to my ear.

" _Let no one slight your dedication to science,_ " Robert says in a voice that sounds as pleasantly exhausted as I feel.

I laugh tiredly.

" _We...probably shouldn't do that again,_ " he continues heavily.

"Give yourself a chance," I tell him. "See how you feel in the morning. We just shared some _incredible_ emotional intimacy without any actual physical intimacy. You didn't do anything to me. I didn't do anything to you."

He thinks about that for a minute. " _You're right. We just...did a thing together. I still...it's cheating if we just keep doing this, Jack. It's a crutch. I need to keep working on my issues so that I can do the things, say the things to you in person and not in my dreams. You deserve better than that. It may be nice for me, but it's not fair to you._ "

"It's still a big step," I protest, trying not to think of the things he's been saying to me in dreams. "We were pretty damn intimate just now, but not in a way that you've ever been intimate with anyone before, am I right?"

Robert sighs. " _No, you're right._ "

I have to swallow a wave of giddiness. I've done something with Robert that _no one else has_.

"So that's intimacy with me, in your bed, but without me in your bed. I'm not invading your space, I'm not making any demands of you, and you _still_ want to do it again."

" _I do,_ " he admits in a low, throaty voice.

A thought occurs to me, and I bite back a groan. "What if...what if we _do_ do it again. Just once. But this time...we switch places."

The sound Robert makes goes straight to my loins.

" _Let...let me think about that,_ " Robert groans. There's silence for a bit, then he says, " _So you...liked what you saw?_ "

"More than liked," I assure him. "But I can't go into detail because we might lose control of ourselves and rush outside naked and wind up dry-humping on Joseph's front porch."

Robert's laughter is shaky but light. " _You're a treasure, Jack._ "

I can't resist. "Are you saying you _don't_ want to dry-hump on Joseph's front porch?"

" _If we're going to do anything on Joseph's front porch we need to go the whole nine yards. Rose petals, scented candles, full penetration._ " He pauses. " _Although maybe pulling out to leave a stain on his door for him to clean._ "

My own laughter bubbles up. "If we're going to do that, we may as well just make out and jerk each other off. _Two_ stains."

" _Don't tempt me,_ " he mock-threatens.

That makes me smile so wide it hurts. "I don't tempt you just by existing?"

Robert laughs helplessly. " _Oh, Jack,_ " he gasps, _"You're perfect. Hold out just a little longer. I'll be worth the wait, I promise._ "

Smiling, I roll onto my back and grin up at the ceiling. "I've waited my whole life for you, Rob. I'll wait however long it takes for you to be comfortable."

" _You make me comfortable,_ " he says quietly. " _I'm gonna go to sleep and hope for that dream again so I can practice telling you all the things you deserve to hear._ "

That makes me feel warm and fluffy, like cotton candy made of joy. "Okay. Sleep well, Rob. I'll see you in the morning."

" _Sleep well, Jack. Thank you for being you._ "

The call ends and I roll over to put the phone on the bedside table, then roll back the other way and hug the spare pillow. I'd never cared one way or the other about Valentine's Day before, but now...I feel almost guilty for being so happy when I know that Robert and I are the only two in the cul-de-sac who _are_ , tonight.

I fall asleep thinking about Robert's happy trail, and imagining my fingers running lightly down it.

 

* * *

 

Waking up in the morning brings a slight worry for how Robert will be feeling, but when he steps into the kitchen and sees me, his face lights up and he gives me a brilliant smile that makes me wish we were in his dream so I could hear all the things he wants to tell me. We hug for a very long minute, and separate only because the French toast needs to be flipped before it burns. The warm delight that hums between us hasn't cooled down any by dinner, to judge from Mary's expression when she comes over for pizza.

"Did you two finally...?" she asks.

Robert shakes his head. "Just phone sex."

I think that's putting it a bit mildly, but I don't have much to compare it to.

It's definitely settled into simmering warmth by the time the rest of the cul-de-sac sees us, either individually or together, and no one asks about anything we did Valentine's night.

The rest of February is blustery. March is supposed to come in like a lion and go out like a lamb, but a warm front means we get an unexpected thaw and Robert eagerly takes me out walking. "Cryptid hunting" is the standard excuse, but it's a chance to be alone together in the woods and we both love it. We're still working up to the swapped-bed facetime call. Robert's nervous about his reaction to me in his bed, so we spend some time just sitting side by side on his bed and talking, hands clasped together, his thumb tracing patterns over the backs of my fingers.

Amanda asks when Joseph starts the cookouts back up, and is disappointed to learn that April is the first one. Her spring break is mid-March, but Joseph agrees to do a special one the Saturday she'll be here.

I'm _definitely_ making mini cherry pies for my Panda. Got a couple of fancy crust ideas I want to try.

 When she drives up late Monday morning the week of spring break, practically the first thing she says once we stop hugging is, "Have you kissed yet?"

"In my dreams," Robert snarks, making me blush because that's confirmation of one of the things he wants to do in waking life.

I mean. Not that I didn’t know that from the kissing we did briefly back in…late April. Wow, has it been that long? Should we make plans for the one-year anniversary of the day we met?

We talk late into the night, catching up with our Panda, and she spends the afternoons that week reconnecting with the cul-de-sac kids and her high school friends. Robert and I switch things up and sit on _my_ bed for a bit each day, just talking, and he seems a lot more comfortable with that although he confesses that he's afraid of taking down his self-imposed walls. Lorraine thinks he's ready to move past Disney-safe , and he acknowledges that he probably is, just that - like a kid on the end of a diving board - he needs some kind of push to get him over his fear.


	19. Not a trophy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack figures it out. Robert gets that push he needs. It's a very exciting neighborhood cookout. Epilogue next chapter!

The cul-de-sac is fairly humming with excitement the morning of Joseph's impromptu first barbecue of the year, and the weather's warm and sunny. Robert helps me bake the mini pies (apple, cherry, blueberry, and peach, each with their own fancy crust design) before going home to fetch his offering. He saunters in last with a fruit tray that Damien, Lucien, and I all descend upon. Within moments, the strawberries are gone.

"Daaaad!"

"All's fair in love and strawberries, Manda Panda," I tease.

She turns to Robert. "Knife Dad!"

Robert grins, turning my heart to molten chocolate. "Don't worry, kiddo. I planned for this." He pulls a Ziploc out of his jacket pocket. There's two big, red strawberries inside.

Amanda squeals, hugs him, and runs off with her prize.

"Traitor," I accuse him, grinning.

He grins back. "Hey, I thought all was fair in love and strawberries."

"Fine, hold my logic against me." For a second, the thought sizzles between us, the similarity to a certain pick-up line.

"You made it," Mary purrs, appearing almost between us to get us both in a headlock hug before letting go.

Robert gives her a proper hug and a kiss on the cheek. "And miss Jack's cooking?"

Mary laughs. I take my turn hugging her. "He knows if he doesn't show up, Amanda will stab him."

"She will, too," he says. "Gave her the knife myself."

"My friends," Damien announces enthusiastically, "I have spent the winter perfecting a non-alcoholic Victorian Sangria, and now I am pleased to present it to you!" He bows over Mary's hand. "And, of course, should you pair it with wine instead of the sparkling grape juice I procured, it will taste just as exceptional."

Mary giggles. "Well then, I guess I'd better try it. Boys?"

I give Robert a questioning look. He snorts.

"You have to ask?"

"Didn't want to make the assumption," I tell him loftily. "I'll be right back."

Mary and I leave Damien chatting with Robert.

"I think it's _adorable_ that you get his drinks for him," she says in a low voice as she ladles mashed fruit and syrup into a plastic cup.

I can feel my cheeks heat.

"I'm being serious, Jack." She hands me the ladle. "You've been really good for him. I know I've got no room to talk, but his drinking wasn't healthy and you pulled him out of the gutter."

"I didn't..." The protest trails off. I'm not sure what I meant to even say, and I ladle fruit and syrup into a pair of cups.

Mary hands me a bottle of sparkling white grape juice. "Fine, he dragged _himself_ out of the gutter. But he did it _for you_."

While I'm pouring grape juice, I give her a skeptical look. She gives me one right back.

"What, you think it's _coincidence_ that he met you and the next day decided to clean himself up and do laundry for the first time in...weeks?"

"H-he did?" I knew he'd cleaned up. I didn't know it had been that bad, or maybe I just forgot.

Mary just gives me a superior look and goes off to fill her glass with wine. I bring my cups over to Robert and Damien, and we toast him before sipping.

"Mm. It's good," Robert murmurs, taking another sip. "Cold. Fruity. Thank you."

"I agree," I add, making Damien flush with pleasure. "This is amazing!"

"Ah, my friends, thank you for your kind words! Truly, it is an honor to be able to bring a simple pleasure such as this to my dearest companions."

Robert suddenly goes still, eyes fixed on something behind me, and he looks like he's trying to remember where all his knives are because he needs to stab something _right now_.

"No," he growls, hand trembling with rage.

Alarmed, I take the cup back and hand both of them to Damien, who turns to set them safely on a nearby table.

"No what?" I ask, turning to see what he's looking at, but all I see is Joseph, wearing...

...wearing...

It occurs to me that the last time Joseph had been wearing that sweater around his neck, Robert had been on edge and then got drunk for the first – and last – time in months. Furthermore, I've seen that robin's egg blue sweater in a photograph Robert showed me when he told me he wanted to quit drinking entirely. I don't know how Joseph got it, but suddenly I know that the dream Robert had given up on was getting his wife's sweater back.

The only other time I can remember dissociating badly enough that I felt like I was floating, tethered to my body, I had just gotten the news about the crash. Then, I was numb with shock and loss. Now, I'm both hot and cold, fury and steel.

"Jack?" Robert asks warily. "Jack, what are you doing?"

I paste a smile on my face, sharp and bright and fake. I'm going to war.

"Joseph!" I stride towards him, arms out for a hug.

"Jack!" He looks surprised, but he's not going to pass the opportunity up. I hug the youths, I hug the neighbors, but I've never hugged him.

We embrace and I lean back, my hands on his shoulders. "You know, I've always admired this sweater. Wherever did you get it?"

"Jack, no!" Robert shouts, sounding faint and distant.

Joseph looks mildly alarmed. "Oh, you know, I really don't remember. I think Mary was the one who bought it..."

My hands tighten on his shoulders. "Now, that's funny, because I thought you stole it from Robert after you took advantage of his emotional vulnerability."

Robert’s words come floating on the wind. "Jack, stop, what are you doing?" I ignore them. He said to do that.

Joseph gives me a condescending smirk and laughs. "Is that what he told you? And you believed him?"

Everything seems to be frozen except for me and him. I am vaguely aware of a child's voice, quickly hushed.

"He didn't tell me anything. He doesn't kiss and tell, didn't you know that? I saw the photo of his wife with it, Joseph."

Joseph looks pale. I keep one hand on his shoulder - on the sweater - and the other strokes his chest absently to loosen the knot of the sleeves.

"Furthermore, I think you wear this sweater to goad him into letting you take advantage of him in attempts to get it back."

"Jack, no, stop," Robert pleads faintly.

Finally, Joseph finds his voice. "I'm helping him move on from the loss of his wife. It's an act of love."

The steel in me sharpens. "Oh, so you love him, then?"

Joseph's eyes flicker left and right, taking stock of who's in earshot. "Yes," he says quietly. The sad part is, he probably thinks he does.

I am full of fire and time slows to a crawl, the moment hung suspended in eternity.

_I'm going to punch Joseph in the face._

The memory of my father appears before me, asking if I really want to do that. If Joseph died in the next two minutes, would I spend the rest of my life regretting that my last act towards him was one of anger?

The question ripples through me like a stone cast into a lake. The answer comes back, a pale arm holding aloft Excalibur.

_No._

Time speeds up, and Joseph's expression shifts to one of alarm as my smile ceases to pretend to be friendly. The hand that had been stroking pulls back and lashes out, just as Ana taught me so long ago, and smashes into the center of his face with a wet impact. I missed his nose - mostly - and nailed his eye. He staggers back and falls to both knees, hands over his face, yelling in pain, and the sweater comes away in my hand.

"Love isn't a trophy to wave around," I tell him coldly. "It's a gift, something to cherish and protect. Even if it hurts. Even if you have to make sacrifices. Because to see the one you love being happy..." I turn to look at Robert. He's staring at me in astonishment, and I can feel a real smile spread across my face. " _That's_ what makes life worth living."

I move towards Robert, and discover that he's moving to meet me in the middle of the yard. I offer him the sweater, but he ignores it to take my face in both hands and kiss me. It's somehow eager and hesitant at the same time, hungry and tender, turning me into molten chocolate. I can hear Amanda yelling GO KNIFE DAD! in the background.

Robert laughs shakily. When I open my eyes, his lashes are clumped together by tears. "Jack, you wonderful, amazing, beautiful sunnovabitch. I love you."

"I love you too," I tell him, beaming, "but that's no way to talk about my mother."

He crushes me to his chest, laughing and crying at the same time. I turn my head and kiss the hollow of his cheek the way I've been yearning to for almost a year, and feel the scratch of his stubble as he turns to kiss the side of my neck. I think I'm going to melt.

"You took advantage of his grief to elicit intimate acts from him?" Damien demands in ringing tones. "You...you _cad!_ "

"It's not like that!" Joseph shouts back.

Mary laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Oh, it's _exactly_ like that. I have pictures. Also, I want a divorce."

Robert and I pull back a little, standing side by side so we can take in what's happening. Amanda and Lucien are keeping the other kids herded into a corner, while Craig stands with Hugo and Brian repeating over and over again that he's _never_ seen me hit _anyone_ , even some people who really, really deserved it. I think I broke his brain a little. Mat's hovering behind Damien, looking shell-shocked and a little sick.

"You know what?" Robert asks in a too-loud voice. "Let him have the sweater. As a reminder of everything he’s just lost."

He takes the sweater and hurls it to the grass in front of Joseph, but Mary snatches it up.

"Can't let you do that, Rob," she tells him. "She was my friend, too. If you don't want it, _I'll_ keep it."

Joseph gives us all a murderous look. There's blood smeared across his face; guess I got his nose better than I thought I did. "This is assault," he snarls in my direction. "I'm going to press charges."

Robert hugs me a little tighter. "I didn't see any assault," he calls out. "I only saw you trip and clock yourself. Anyone see anything differently?"

Heads all around shake no. There's some frowns, but also some grins.

"Hey, Brian." I make eye contact with the hefty man. "I think this time, it's up to you to cook our feast."

He grins at me in brilliant delight. "It would be an honor."

The barbecue (minus Joseph, who is either sulking in the house or trying to convince the police he was attacked) is just as rowdy and upbeat as any of them have been in the past. Amanda texts someone excitedly - probably Val, letting her know that their dumb dads finally kissed. Lucien congratulates me on my "sick burn". Craig's still in shock, but he's switched to repeating "I'm so happy for you two" over and over again. Damien insists that Robert and I take the wrought-iron table, and moves it so that we can sit comfortably beside each other without having to let go of each other's hands. There's a lot of thumb-brushing, knuckle-kissing, actual kissing, gentle smiles, and heads laid affectionately on shoulders. Brian's right at home on Joseph's grill, and we all eat until we're stuffed.

"Not to sound like Craig," Hugo jokes, toasting us with some of Damien's Sangria, "but I'm so happy for you two. I knew the day I _met_ you that this day would come," he says to me. "I'm just surprised it took you two this long."

Robert snorts. "It took _me_ this long," he says, shooting me an apologetic look that I banish with light kisses. "I...asked Jack to hold off until I'd gotten my head straightened out. I'm probably going to freak out on you later," he warns me.

"It's okay. I'm not going anywhere."

He smiles, melting my heart again. "My therapist thinks you're a saint, by the way."

Hugo laughs while I blush. "Well, I think he's a miracle-worker. He got you out of your shell enough to eat lunch with him in less than twenty-four hours after you first met!"

"I was similarly impressed," Damien confides, having snuck up on us from the side. "And Robert, you sought out a mental health professional? That is _splendid_ news! I am so proud of you, my friend!"

It's Robert's turn to blush. "Val insisted," he mutters. "Part of her conditions for talking to me again. But...I needed it. I needed someone to give me a reason to do the right thing."

"It's not easy to face your mistakes and own up to them," Hugo says somberly. "I'm proud of you, too."

"On a lighter note," Damien says brightly, "I must enquire as to whether the two of you have given any thought towards picking a date."

I look at Robert. He looks at me. Neither of us has any idea what Damien's talking about. "A date?" I ask.

Damien beams. "For your wedding! June weddings were considered particularly auspicious by the Victorians, and if - that is, should the idea tickle your fancies, I would be _honored_ to assist in any way, from suggesting elements to hosting and performing the wedding myself."

Robert blinks. "You're ordained?"

"I, uh, completed my ordination...online," Damien confesses, like he's expecting to be mocked. He does _not_ expect Robert's broad grin.

"What do you think, Jack? Victorian wedding in Damien's garden in June?"

I lean in to kiss him briefly. "Sounds good to me."

Robert turns back to Damien. "We'll do it," he declares, and now Damien's grinning like we've just made his entire year.

"Do what?" Mat asks, joining the cluster.

"Jack and Robert are going to get married," Hugo answers.

Mat's face splits into an ecstatic smile. "That's great! Who asked who? How did you do it? What did you say? Was there crying?"

Robert and I glance at each other, suddenly realizing what we've done...or failed to do.

"I..."

"...he..."

Damien's face falls. "You hadn't..."

Robert looks away, hand tight around mine. "Yeah, we kinda...didn't...I mean, I just assumed..."

"There was never a chance I'd say no," I assure him, blushing.

"No! My friends, I apologize," Damien practically wails. "In my eagerness, I too-hastily raised a question which should have grown and blossomed naturally between you! Instead, the bud has been nipped before it could bloom."

Hugo pats him on the shoulder. "Knowing them, they would have just cohabited for a year until Amanda asked them when they were going to tie the knot already, and it would have been just as anticlimactic."

Robert snorts. "Sounds about right."

Something occurs to me, and I give Damien a sly grin.

"So," I ask casually, "does that mean I can still propose even though we've already agreed to get married?"

Damien, Hugo, and Mat all grin as Robert freezes, then stares at me in awestruck wonder. "Yes," he breathes.

Mary's suddenly leaning on my shoulder. "Yes what? Did you just propose, and I missed it?"

"Not quite," Damien tells her. "Jack has merely proposed the idea of a future proposal. Ah! Would you perchance be interested in holding a betrothal party?" he asks us.

"I think it sounds like a great ides," I tell him. "Rob?"

He leans in to kiss my jaw. "Sounds good to me."

"Hey!" Amanda shouts, pushing through the small crowd. "Val says it's about time and she'll talk to you tomorrow," she tells Robert.  "So, uh, what's going on over here?"

Mat grins at her. "Your dad just asked Robert if he could ask Robert to marry him, and Damien offered to host a betrothal party where your dad could pop the question. When do you go back to college, again?"

Amanda makes a face. "I leave in the morning. But the semester ends in May, and that would give you plenty of time to plan a fancy party and everything, right?"

"Of course! Splendid idea, my dear girl." Damien hugs her briefly. "If our happy couple is amenable to this idea-"

"We are," Robert and I chorus in unison.

"-then I shall begin making preparations!" He looks around, taking in the setting sun. "Ah, I believe it is time we began to take our leaves, in any case."

Hugo scratches the back of his head. "Yeah, time to pack it in. Congrats again, you two."

The barbecue breaks up, people gathering dishes and children and wandering off towards their own houses. I find myself hesitating on the sidewalk with Robert, neither of us certain which direction either of us are going.

"You haven't figured out what you're doing past kissing?" Amanda asks from behind us, making us jump. Our guilty looks get a tolerantly amused smile. "Geez, you two. Take a blanket and go sit on the tree bench and _talk_ about things. I'm going to veg in front of the TV."

"Good idea, Panda." I give her a one-armed hug since Robert's still holding my other hand and I don't want to let go.

We grab the knitted afghan and drape it around ourselves as we sit, comfortably close, on the bench under the cherry tree in the backyard. I don't know how many times over the last several months we sat here like this, arms around each other's backs and hands clasped, quietly talking through whatever was shaking Robert's determination to stay sober. The first few minutes are for silence, the comforting reassurance that I'm not going to pry that gives him the emotional space he needs to open up. I always let him break the silence, and tonight is no exception. We watch the sun painting the sky in reds and purples as it sinks below the horizon.

"I want to go slow," Robert says quietly. "I'm still afraid I'll fuck up."

I lean my head against his shoulder. "Take all the time you need, Rob. I want you to be happy and healthy."

He trembles and turns to hug me to his chest. "They say the Devil is so beautiful, you don't realize he's evil until it's too late. After Marilyn died...Joseph was there to comfort me. Absolve me of my guilt. I was already friends with Mary, and they welcomed me into their lives. Joseph...I thought he cared. I really did. I knew things were bad between him and Mary and I felt guilty about keeping it from her, but he made me feel... _loved_."

I hug Robert back, knowing that he needs my silence more than ever. What he's telling me can't be easy, and I do my best to wordlessly convey that I'm there for him.

"Then one day we went sailing on his yacht. We had engine trouble and had to spend the night at sea. That’s when we…” He trails off, shaking a little, and I kiss the smooth skin of his neck until he turns to capture my lips. When the kiss ends he sighs, tilting his head so our foreheads touch before I put my head back on his shoulder. “I asked when he and Mary were splitting up. He looked at me like I was a complete stranger and said they weren't. There was no _us_ except in the space between him and her. He was putting the illusion of his perfect life first, no matter who it hurt. Once we got back to shore I asked Mary to meet me at Jim and Kim's and told her everything. She told me she already knew. That I wasn't the first, only the latest. I spiraled hard. There wasn’t much point to living, as far as I was concerned. Just being there for Mary. And Betsy. Mostly, what kept me going was spite. I wanted to stick around long enough to see Joseph’s _perfect life_ go up in flames. What I was like when you first met me - that's what I'd been like for three years, give or take. Only worse. But I'd left Marilyn’s favorite sweater on the yacht. I used to wear it as a sort of apology to her, you know? A reminder of how I'd fucked up and failed her. Every few months, Joseph would start wearing it around his shoulders until I went to demand it back. That's when..." Robert's voice trembles.

"He made you do things," I say quietly.

"Yeah. And I did them, hoping this time he'd give it back, but I was a fool. Of course he'd never give it back, it was the only bait he had to lure me back into his bed. I was so angry...I thought fine, if this was the way things happen between men, I could do that. Any guy who was interested in me _clearly_ just wanted a good fuck and that's it, so that's what I did." He takes a deep breath and loosens his hold on me.

I sit up to look at him and his eyes are sad and dark, begging me to understand.

"That's why I wanted to wait," he said softly. "That's what I had to un-learn. I didn't want to do that to you."

"That's why you never asked when you were sober?"

Robert nods.

I kiss him gently. "I understand. We'll go as slow as you need."

"You're...not disappointed, now that you know...?"

My smile is lopsided and full of old pain. "My dad held the memory of my mother hostage against my good behavior. I can't be disappointed that you loved your wife enough to put up with...things...to get her favorite sweater back. And I don't blame you for getting drunk that last time, either. I'm just glad Mary came and got me, and kind of relieved that I know now why she was so angry."

Robert puts his head on my shoulder, and it's my turn to hug him.

"I don't want to rush you," I tell him, "so I won't do anything that you haven't done first. If you want to trade the couch for sharing the bed, I'm more than happy to share. If you want to hold off, I'm fine with that. Whatever you want, Rob. You call the shots."

"What if I want to bend you over this bench?" It's dark and angry, and I suspect he's starting to lash out like he warned me.

I kiss his hair. "Then I hope you'll let me get the lube out of my bedroom first. Unless you've got some on you."

He snorts, the tension popping before it can really get going. "How do you not get taken advantage of, Jack? You're too nice."

"That's my secret," I tease. "I _am_ too nice. I use your own conscience against you. Any time anyone thinks of doing a mean thing to me, they remember my cooking and my innocent blue eyes and they can't, it's like kicking a puppy. I have this on the very best authority," I continue loftily. "I befriended some very unscrupulous people in college. They actually apologized for being bad people and stopped coming around. Last I heard, they'd taken up volunteering in their spare time. Carrying groceries for little old ladies, putting on puppet shows for orphans, baking cookies for retirement homes, that sort of thing."

Robert sits up. "Really?"

I kiss the tip of his nose. "Nah, but they did apologize that I was too nice and they didn't deserve my friendship and that's the last I saw of them. So whatcha think: my bed, your bed, the couch?"

"Let's start on the couch and see how I feel when it gets later," he says. "Jack...thank you for being the real deal. When I first met you, I thought for sure you were gonna break my heart if I let myself care about you. But you refused to use me. You were nicer to me than anyone had been since Joseph first started luring me in, but you didn't ask me for anything. I was used to taking, and you...you just kept giving. And then I didn't want to take anymore. I wanted to _share_."

He smiles at me, the gentle one that melts me, and I can't help but smile back.

"When I first met you," I confess, feeling my cheeks heat up, "The only reason I thought you _weren't_ homeless is that you hadn't pawned your leather jacket for food. Then I figured you might _still_ be homeless, you'd just stabbed the jacket's previous owner to death in a dark alley recently. But I still wanted to take you home, cook you a good meal, and see you smile."

Robert looks like he's not sure if he's going to scold me or laugh, his mouth hanging open. Then he shakes his head. "Jack..."

"I'm a sap?"

He leans over to kiss me. "Yeah. But it's sweet. Come watch a movie with me?"

"At your place?"

"At the theater," he corrects, grinning.

I grin back. "I'd love to."

Still wrapped in the afghan, we make our way inside to let Amanda know we're going out. She hugs us and says that if we're going to get kinky, to not go to a theater she goes to.

"No promises," Robert deadpans while I blush. "No arson while we're gone."

"No promises," she shoots back. "Love you, Dad. Love you, Knife Dad."

"Love you too, Panda," we chorus.

As I start the car, Robert leans over to kiss my cheek. "I love you," he murmurs.

I turn to catch his lips for a return kiss. "I love you, too."

The look of delighted adoration that gets makes me feel like there's no possible way I'll ever be happier than I am at this moment. Then I remember the betrothal party and Victorian wedding we agreed to, and I look forward to being proven wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With Lucien being part of the youth group, he naturally told them all about what happened between Jack, Robert, and Joseph. The youths told their parents, the parents told the rest of the congregation, and Joseph was asked to remove himself from that church. As part of the terms of the divorce, Mary agreed to take sole responsibility for the mortgage on the house but not live there, instead allowing Joseph and the kids to live there rent-free as long as any of them wanted. Cookouts moved to Jack's backyard. Jack mostly moved into Robert's house, but they go back to Jack's some days - more when Fareeha is home.
> 
> They set the wedding date as June 14, so that Jack's "there's better things to celebrate" mindset could celebrate their wedding, and Robert could celebrate Jack without making it about his birthday. When Robert found out that Jack had never done anything sexual with anyone, he insisted they wait until their wedding night to consummate their relationship - although they did celebrate the anniversary of the day they met (but did not have sex) by...not having sex. (Jack got his first BJ and was suitably impressed.) Both the betrothal party and the wedding were extensively photographed by Fareeha, with the wedding being catered by one of Val's contacts and the entire experience covered by her magazine. Gay Victorian weddings, the new hot thing. It was Fareeha's first real photo gig, her foot in the industry door. She continued to take core classes over the summer and as a result, graduated after three years...


	20. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you know your Overwatch lore, you suspected this was coming.

Robert and I are in the parking lot, standing by the car as people stream out of commencement, waiting for Fareeha to join us so we can go somewhere fancy for dinner. He keeps giving me nuzzling little kisses, mustache and goatee scratching gently at the side of my neck as if reassuring me that I haven't lost that little pleasure just because he's mostly clean-shaven. After about the sixth one I give in and turn my head to capture his lips, our fingers threading together as we kiss.

"Wooo! Go Dad! Go Knife Dad!"

Fareeha, apparently, managed to find us while we were, uh, otherwise engaged. A little guiltily, I break the kiss and am faced with two beaming grins as my husband and daughter both see that I'm blushing.

"Please," she says airily, "don't stop on my account. I _love_ seeing you be cute together."

Robert leans in to nibble my ear, making Fareeha laugh in delight as my blush deepens. Behind her, a woman in a blue hijab with a patch over one eye leaves the river of babbling students and parents and turns towards us. At first, I think she's heading for the car next to mine, but she pulls a handful of brightly-colored envelopes out from under her shawl and hands one to each of us before walking off.

"What the..."

"You said it, Panda," Robert mutters.

We give each other confused looks, shrug, and open the cards.

"It's a graduation card," Fareeha says, puzzled. "But why did she give cards to you?"

Robert's got the sort of card you give to a newly-married couple on their wedding, but when I pull out my card it's...a sympathy card? The message inside reads IT'S NEVER EASY, LOSING SOMEONE YOU LOVE but underneath, in a too-familiar hand, someone has written _I'm sorry I didn't tell you. Rm 504 at the Hilton if you want to talk._ Dimly, I can hear Fareeha say 'how did she know my name?' and Robert wondering who knew me that they were thanking him for marrying me and making me happy, but the blood pounding in my ears is making it difficult to hear anything but my pulse and the world has gone grey around me.

"Dad, what's your card say? Dad? Dad!"

The card is gone. I am vaguely aware that Robert took it out of my hands and gave it to Fareeha. My hands are full of Robert's jacket, clove and leather in my nostrils as he holds me to his chest, stroking my hair until I shudder and draw in a deep breath.

"This is _Mom's_ handwriting," Fareeha says quietly. "Knife Dad..."

"You knew there was a chance." Robert's voice is gentle. "That explains why my card was thanking me for making your Dad happy. You don't have to go see her, Panda. You don't even have to make a decision just yet; we do still have dinner to go to."

"Dad, are you..."

Robert snorts. "Of course he is. Aren't you, sunshine?"

"Yeah," I say quietly. "Closure if nothing else." Slowly, I free myself from Robert's protective embrace. "Rob, do you mind driving?"

He kisses me softly. "Not at all. You sit in back and tell your daughter how proud of her you are."

That snaps everything back. I hug Fareeha. "I'm so proud of you, sweetie!"

We pile into the car and chat happily as Robert drives us to our dinner destination. It's very swanky, and I can tell that Fareeha's just as impressed as I am. The desserts are fabulous, and Robert wrestles with himself before deciding _not_ to have a glass of wine. He gets a kiss on the cheek for that, and Fareeha squeezes his hand and tells him that she's proud of him.

Full and happy, we drive back to our hotel and only remember Ana's cards when we get into the elevator - because we're staying at the Hilton, in rooms 512 and 513.

"Jack?" Robert asks quietly as the elevator starts moving.

"Let's change into more comfortable clothes first," I answer.

A few minutes later, we're walking down the hall in jeans and sneakers and tee-shirts. I know that what I'm feeling isn't really nervousness. It's a whirlpool of anger, hurt, betrayal, relief, and joy all tossed in a blender. Robert takes my hand and squeezes reassuringly; Fareeha has my other hand and it's me doing the reassuring squeeze. We stop at room 504 and she lets go of my hand to cling to my arm. The door is slightly ajar, the security arm swung out to keep the door from closing. I knock anyway.

"Ana?" I call when there's no answer.

Faintly, a familiar voice inside says, "Enter."

I push the door open slowly, Fareeha crowding behind me as I enter. Robert must correct the security arm because I can hear the door close and lock behind him. Ana is standing in front of the window with her back to the room. The blender-whirlpool of emotions threatens to overflow, and the world turns grey.

The grey fades into a black shirt that smells vaguely of cloves and smoke, and a hand running comfortingly through my hair. In the distance, I can hear Fareeha crying and Ana murmuring a stream of reassurance and apology.  Then there is silence, followed by words that actually make sense: "How is he?"

"Jack?" Robert murmurs, almost-stubble scratching gently against my ear.

I take a deep, shuddering breath but only lift my head enough to put it on his shoulder and close my eyes. My arms tighten around his chest. "I don't want to look yet."

"You don't have to," Robert promises in a low voice.

"You have every right to be angry," Ana says in a tone of iron calm. "Being angry does not mean you are rejecting the person you are angry at. Merely that they have done something that you feel they should not have."

It's an argument we've had - carefully - many times over the years. She's never won it.

"It's still a separation. Pulling away. Withdrawing support. I can't do it, Ana. I won't do it unless I'd be okay with it being my last interaction with you."

Ana sighs. "I suppose I should be grateful you still hold me in esteem I may not deserve. Robert? Are you angry at me?"

"I'm making sure Jack's okay," Robert says in a low growl. "I'll figure out how I feel about you later."

"I am glad that he has found someone who gives him the love and support he deserves," she says warmly. "Ours was never a marriage of love."

"I know."

Another sigh. "I did not intend to deceive you at all, much less for this long. After my injury, I was found by noncombatants and taken for medical care, but stripped of my uniform and mistaken for a soldier of another nation. It was not _safe_ for me to be identified until I was recovered, and by then I knew that I would have been declared dead. For me to return to life at that point would have stripped Fareeha of the survivor's benefits that helped finance her dream. And..." her voice falters. "I knew from Craig's social media posts that you had found love, Jack. I did not want to jeopardize your happiness. You spent eighteen years devoting yourself to a child you had no hand in creating, tying yourself to a woman you barely knew and did not love. I could not give you the freedom to live your own life, could not give you that happiness while I was alive. But in death..." Her voice trembles. "...I could set you free."

Ana was always so calm, so composed. Only rarely had I ever heard that tremor in her voice, when something managed to strike a deep enough chord that it shook her iron control.

She _cares_.

Suddenly I'm imagining what it must have been like for her, ghosting around the edges of our lives, watching her daughter from a distance, unable to share in our happiness. And she did that, she sacrificed her rightful place, because her 'death' gave Fareeha the freedom to follow - and achieve - her dream, and me the freedom to find and marry for love.

I hug Robert tighter for a moment, press a kiss to his jaw, and turn to face my dead wife. She's sitting on the foot of the bed with one arm around her daughter, a few strands of silver in her dark hair and tears on her left cheek. The patch over her right eye is...distressing. When I spread my arms, she throws herself into them and weeps into my chest while I cry into her hair. After a minute, Fareeha and Robert sandwich us to form a hug knot. It's a few minutes before we break apart again, and all my previously-conflicting emotions have settled.

"So if you're dead," Robert asks, sliding his arms around me from behind, "then who are...you?"

"My sister," Ana days dryly. "It is a fiction that has been in place a long time. I had a...colorful...youth."

Fareeha grins. "So I have an aunt now? Cool. You gonna move into our new house? I'm sure Dad would give you a good deal on the rent."

Ana's eye flickers up to me. "Would I be welcome in your neighborhood?"

"Of course," I say immediately. "Um...Craig will figure out that you're...you."

Her eye crinkles in amusement. "So long as he does not tell the government, I am comfortable with that."

We exchange contact information.

"So we'll see you in a few days," Robert says, daring Ana to say no.

"You will."

He grunts and steps forward to give her a hug, something that seems to startle her. "Take care, Ana. Drive safe."

"You as well," she returns, apparently on reflex.

Fareeha takes her turn hugging Ana. "Good night, Mom. See you in a few days. Love you."

Before she can respond, I hug her as well. "Thank you for this," I murmur. "Take care, Ana. Love you."

When I step away, Ana's tearing up again. "Thank you for everything, Jack. I...I love both of you, too."

Ritual complete, we smile and wave and retreat out into the hall where we immediately collapse into a group hug for a minute.

"It's gonna be weird," Fareeha says as we walk back to our rooms. "Having Mom back. Having her not leave after a few months. Weird, but a _good_ weird."

"Panda," Robert says, draping an arm around her shoulders and the other around my waist, "the best things in life _are_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick reminder that I will be posting a Halloween omake chapter on Tuesday!


	21. Halloween omake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robert and Jack track down the Dover Ghost. Don't worry, it's not canon.
> 
> ...or is it?
> 
> Kidding. It's not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween!

Robert gives me a wicked smile as Damien leaves earshot with the picnic basket. "Got enough wild left in ya for a Halloween adventure?" he asks.

My pulse jumps. "Oh, you know it," I tell him with a grin of my own. "What did you have in mind?"

He looks pleased with himself. "Remember that dusting of snow we had a few days ago? I found tracks, close to here, going into and coming out of a mausoleum."

"Spooky."

Robert's grin widens. "It gets spookier. The tracks just _appeared_ and _disappeared._ " He pulls out his phone. "Look..."

The pictures he scrolls through show clear footprints in the snow that dusts the grass, both from a distance and close up. Sure enough, they just _start_ and _stop_ like whoever or whatever made them appeared out of and vanished into thin air.

"Dover Ghost?" I ask, my eyebrows raised. I'm sure there's some logical explanation, but damned if I can think of it.

"My thought exactly." Robert puts his phone away. "What do you think? I've got some supplies with me in my truck - flashlights, rope, salt, couple of silver crosses, bottles of holy water..."

"I'm not asking how you got those," I tease. "Well, my phone is charged and I've got my knife on me, so...let's do it."

Robert looks pleasantly astonished, like he didn't expect me to go along with this so easily. "You're the best, Jack."

 

* * *

 

Armed with a flashlight in my left hand and my phone in my right, a coil of thin nylon rope over my shoulder, a silver cross on a chain around my neck, a glass bottle of sea salt in one pocket of my jacket and a plastic bottle of supposedly holy water in the other, I follow Robert to the mausoleum from his pictures. He's got a knife in one hand and a piece of chalk in the other, bottles and flashlights and god only knows what else in the pockets of his leather jacket. 

The mausoleum is built into the side of a hill, hardly more than a fancy stone facade about 12, maybe 15 feet tall and flanked by two walls that sweep out to the sides as if holding the hill at bay. I don’t recognize the family name carved into the lintel. The doors are metal decorated with wrought iron, two solid leaves chained together in the middle and secured with...an unlocked padlock that on closer examination isn't exactly _unlocked_ , but the locking segment of the bar seems to have been almost...melted off. Robert and I exchange a wide-eyed look. I take a picture of it and turn my flashlight on.

Carefully, Robert undoes the chain and opens the right side door. Then he looks around, motions for me to stay, and jogs over to a tree where he snaps off a dead branch and comes back. He gestures for me to open the door wider and then shoves the branch between metal and stone so it won't accidentally close on us. I flash him a smile and sweep the interior with the flashlight's beam before stepping inside. There's what I assume is the usual niches in the walls with urns or coffins behind stone caps, and a floor of smallish flagstones. There's no dust. I'm not sure if that's weird or not. But there _is_ a black iron ring in the back, attached to a wooden door set into the floor.

I give Robert a questioning look. We didn’t specifically discuss being as quiet as possible, but it just seemed like a good precaution so here we are, communicating nonverbally.

He shrugs and walks over, and I can see he's pulled on black leather gloves. Probably a smart idea.

Robert looks up at me, I nod, and he puts down knife and chalk to grip the ring with both hands and pull the trapdoor open.

In silence, we stare at the stone steps leading down into darkness. Robert gestures for me to put the flashlight away and hands me the chalk before leading the way down the steps, his own flashlight out and sweeping ahead of him. We come out into what looks like it may have been a natural tunnel at one point but has since been artificially enhanced with stonework in some places and expanded by hand in others. It goes on for what looks like forever in the beam of the flashlight.

Robert gestures for me to make a chalk mark on the left wall, at the foot of the stairs. Why, I'm not sure, but I draw a little circle on the dark stone. Then he points to my phone and makes a twirling motion...oh! I start the stopwatch, and he smiles.

As we walk carefully down the tunnel, I mark the wall at every minute with the number of minutes we've been walking. That way, I figure, we'll be able to tell how close we are to the stairs on our way out. After about twenty or thirty minutes, I wonder where exactly we are because the tunnel twists and turns slightly, but I haven't had any signal since about three minutes in.

The tunnel opens up into a cavernous room at 37 minutes, and we stop to assess the situation. Robert sweeps the flashlight's beam around, trying to get a sense for how big the open area is, and we both freeze as the beam _clearly_ picks up a tendril of black smoke. He chases it as it crosses the space, but loses it behind an outcropping or opening of some kind.

"Who's there?" Robert demands, knife out and held in a no-nonsense grip. "Show yourself!"

There's a tense pause, then the scrape of a booted foot on the floor, and then a Latino man with scars on his face, melodramatic facial hair, and a completely bald scalp steps out, wincing at the flashlight beam. He's dressed in some sort of military-ish uniform and holds his hands out to show they're empty.

"Identify yourself," Robert snarls.

"Reyes. Gabriel Reyes, United States special forces," the Latino snaps back. "Who the fuck are _you?"_

"The one asking the questions. What are you doing down here?"

"What are _you_ doing down here?" Reyes counters.

"Hunting the Dover Ghost," Robert answers angrily.

Reyes blinks in confusion. "The what now?"

"The Dover Gho-"

"I heard you the first time," Reyes interrupts, shading his eyes with one hand. "I've just never heard of the Dover Ghost. I - fuck, could you _not_ fucking blind me with that thing?"

Grudgingly, Robert lowers the beam so it's not shining directly on the other man's face. "If you're not the Dover Ghost, then explain what you're doing down here."

"That's classified."

"He hell it is! What's your rank, who's your commanding officer?"

"You sure got some _cajones_ ," Reyes says, sounding like he's preparing to give up the fight. "Okay. I'll level with you a bit. This Dover Ghost, assuming it's a supernatural bad guy?" He doesn't wait for an answer. "I'm here hunting down a supernatural asshole my sources say has been inhabiting a host somewhere in this area. I tracked it to the mausoleum in the graveyard, which seems to be the back entrance to its lair, but it wasn't there."

"So you're waiting for it to come back," Robert says, doubt clear in every word. "Nice story. Got any proof?"

Reyes sighs. "Look, it feeds on misery and it requires a human host. Intel suggests it's passed parent to child, and this tunnel under the mausoleum suggests it's been operating for a _long_ time."

"The padlock," I exclaim suddenly. "How did you get in?"

To my surprise, Reyes looks...uncomfortable. "I'm kind of a supernatural entity myself."

"And you expect us to trust you?" Robert demands.

Instead of answering, Reyes...dissolves into a cloud of black smoke and re-forms into something that looks like the Grim Reaper went to Hot Topic and then robbed a military surplus store. There's two implausibly big guns in his hands, one aimed at each of us, and despite how certain I am that we're about to die, I'm pleased that I haven't pissed myself.

After a tense moment that feels like an eternity, the Grim Reaper figure stashes those huge handguns somewhere and holds out metal-tipped gauntlets in a 'don't shoot' gesture. "I don't expect you to trust me." The voice is still Reyes, but...deeper, rougher, scarier. "I expect you to realize that I could do worse to you than I did to the padlock, but I _haven't_ , and thus I'm _on your goddamn side_."

"He makes a good point," I tell Robert quietly.

Robert makes an unhappy sound. "I know, Jack. Doesn't mean I have to like it."

The Reyes...Reaper...entity starts and suddenly, somehow, looks a lot less hostile. "Wait - Jack?"

Slowly, I nod. "Yeah...?"

"You wouldn't be Jack _Morrison_ , would you?"

"The fuck?" Robert asks under his breath.

"Uh...yes?"

"Jack Morrison, birthday June fourteenth, married Ana Amari just after you turned eighteen, your dad was the biggest bag of dicks this side of the Mississippi? Loves strawberries, never expresses anger at anyone he loves?"

"I don't know that my dad was the _biggest_ bag of dicks," I start, but scoffing sounds from both Robert and Reyes make me blush.

"Yeah, that's him," Robert says dryly.

Reyes covers his skull-like face(?) with his talon-gauntlet hands, then turns back into the human form we saw earlier and drags his hands down his face in a gesture of pure exasperation. "Fucking _hell_ ," he sighs. "I come here to make sure the demon isn't preying on you, and here you are, walking into its fucking lair."

"You came here to...why me?"

"Because Captain Amari told _stories_ and when I learned there was a demon in the town her husband and daughter were living in, one that _feeds on misery_ , I had to make that my priority or I'd never be able to live with myself, okay?"

Robert's put his knife away at some point and he slides an arm around my waist. "Then you can rest easy knowing that Jack's _not_ miserable and his daughter's a thousand miles away at college."

The look Reyes gives us is long and searching. "You...are you...in love? With each other?"

"None of your business," Robert says darkly while I blush.

"I'm not _judging_ , asshole," Reyes spits. "The demon _feeds on misery_. Love weakens it. _Are. You. In. Love?"_

I can feel Robert tremble slightly, and tuck the phone and chalk in my pockets to be able to hug him. "You don't have to answer," I murmur, my cheek pressed against his. "And even if you do, saying it out loud doesn't mean anything has to change. I'll still wait until you're ready."

"But if I don't say it," he whispers back, "it's not fair to you. I've been dancing around it for months, trying to pretend it's not true, but I have to man up and stop bullshitting myself. I love you, Jack. I think I fell in love the morning I woke up and you were making me breakfast instead of being disgusted that I came on to you."

My cheeks are starting to burn. "That's fair," I say quietly. "I never believed in love at first sight until I saw you at the Coffee Spoon."

Robert chuckles. "You're a sap, Jack."

I smile against his neck. "I know. A sap who loves you."

"Alright," Robert says, louder, pulling away enough to look at Reyes without completely breaking the hug. "We're in love. Now, are we gonna kick the Dover Ghost's ass, or what?"

Reyes gives us a dry look. "You don't say. I think I got a cavity just watching you. Yeah, come on, let's do this."

I dig the chalk out and mark the wall as we follow Reyes down another opening, the tunnel looking more man-made and less natural.

"So," I say uncertainly, "how exactly do we fight the demon...ghost...thing using love?"

Beside me, Robert snorts.

"It's going to be in a host," Reyes says grimly. "The host may be someone you know. I can't kill the demon unless it's outside of the host - well, I _could_ , but it would kill the host, too. All you have to do is stand off to the side being as sickeningly lovey-dovey as you can. It's harder than it sounds," he warns with a stern look over his shoulder. "The demon's going to say anything it can to make you doubt yourself, doubt each other, and doubt your love. And if the host is someone you know, it may have hooks in you already. Not supernatural ones - I mean it may already know your weaknesses, know what to say to break you down."

Robert looks grim. "Twenty bucks says I've heard worse."

"Unless it's the resurrected corpse of my father," I add dryly, "I doubt it can say anything that would shake me."

Reyes stops and looks at us, arms crossed. "I hope you're both right," he says.

A few minutes later, we start to hear...sounds...coming from down the corridor. They're too far away to properly make out, but Reyes waves for us to stop.

"It's going to hear us coming," he says in a low voice, almost an undertone. "But it doesn't have to hear _all_ of us."

Robert nods. "You do the smoke thing, take it by surprise."

"Exactly. It's probably better if you try to avoid seeing as much as possible. I know you probably still don't trust me, but Jack...I swear on Fareeha's life I won't hurt either of you."

"Fareeha?" Robert asks, looking at me.

"Amanda's birth name," I explain shortly, watching Gabriel's expression. It goes from angry confusion to hurt surprise, and that more than anything convinces me that he is who and what he says he is, because my Panda never used her chosen name when Ana was home.

"Alright," Robert says, stripping his gloves off and stuffing them in his jacket somewhere. "Mark the wall one last time and free your hands so you don't drop your phone when I kiss you."

I almost drop my phone and hurriedly shove it into my pocket. Then I draw a heart on the wall, add my initials and Robert's, and hand him the chalk.

"Good," Gabriel says fondly. "Go for it. I'll be right behind you."

Shyly, Robert offers me his hand. Shyly, I take it. Hand in hand, we walk down the corridor as it curves gently, and it's not long before we come out into a long room with an arched ceiling, completely stonework from the floors to the...altar?...at the far end. There's a flickering light coming from another doorway, one with stairs leading up to who-knows-where, and an _unholy_ light coming from torch sconces on the walls down near the altar where a figure in dark robes is standing up to face the intruders - us. As the figure turns, Robert's flashlight beam lands on its face.

It's Joseph.

It's _Joseph._

_Holy shit Joseph is hosting a demon that-_ my train of thought stumbles to a halt. The demon feeds on misery. My god, that explains so much. And parent to child...was it his fire-and-brimstone father who was the previous host? That seems too easy, somehow. Maybe his mother?

"Who's there?" Joseph demands, his voice somehow cold and brittle.

He can't see us. Robert's blinding him. He doesn't know who we are yet.

I grab Robert's face, cradling his cheeks in my hands, and kiss him.

For a second, he's frozen in shock. Then he lets out a tiny, breathy moan and his arms come around me, the flashlight aimed elsewhere as all thoughts are driven from his mind and he kisses back. I try to block Robert's body with mine and wind up pressing him against the wall while his hands slide down to my hips and the flashlight clatters to the floor.

"I know that tattoo," not!Joseph's cold-brittle voice says.

Robert freezes.

"Sorry if I'm a lousy kisser," I tell Robert softly, kissing up his cheek to his ear. "I've never kissed anyone but you."

"You...haven't?" he asks, tilting his head to kiss my neck and oh, fuck, I'm gonna melt.

"Never wanted to, before you," I answer in little gasps. His teeth scrape against my skin, and I can feel him suck. "Oh god, Rob!"

One hand leaves my hips; the other slides down into my back pocket. "So this is your first hickey, then?" His voice is warm and rich.

The only response I can make is a small whimpery sound. Behind me, something is screeching incomprehensibly in fury.

"You've really never done anything with anyone?" Robert asks, his breath making me shiver as his teeth close gently on my earlobe.

"Wasn't _attracted_ to anyone until I saw you in Mat's," I confess breathily. "First time I'd ever fallen in love."

"You really are a unicorn," Robert teases. "You're the cryptid. It was you this whole time."

I lean back to smile at him, noting absently that the flashlight on the floor is lighting up the wall beside us.

Two loud reports echo in the stone chamber, and something shatters.

"Think you could ramp it up a bit?" Reyes-the-Reaper says as Joseph snarls _how dare you_ in the background. "It's still in the host. We need to get the host feeling _something_ to cause a schism between him and the demon."

One of Robert's arms curls protectively around me. "Hey, Joseph!" he yells, raising the other to show off his middle finger. "I'd invite you to sit and spin, but I think you'd like that too much."

I turn around to see Joseph's reaction. He looks...weirdly torn between being furious and being wistful.

"You can keep the sweater," Robert continues, and oh fuck, was that sweater...? _That_ was why...? "As a reminder that you _killed_ the feelings I had for you. I thought I loved you," he says in a more gentle tone, both his arms around me. "Then I met Jack and learned what love really feels like." Robert nuzzles my neck and help, I'm going to melt. "Your turn, sunshine," he murmurs.

My turn. Joseph looks shaken now, expression swinging wildly between inhuman fury and something close to anguish.

"I know you were trying to flirt with me," I tell Joseph evenly. "You never had a chance. When I baked the cookies I returned your plate with? Robert was with me. We ate warm cookies together. He gave me a key to his house. He _stopped drinking_ for me, Joseph. I didn't ask him to. We didn't even discuss it beforehand. He said it's all or nothing with him, and I'm his all so that left nothing." I turn my head to kiss Robert gently, softly. "It's all or nothing with him, Joseph. Maybe you could have been his all, but you fucked up and now you're nothing. To _either_ of us. To be honest, I feel bad for Mary..."

"...Mary..." Joseph says in a lost tone before snarling.

"She still loves you," Robert tosses out casually. "God only knows why, because you've been a shittier husband to her than I was, and that's _saying_ something."

"I'm still not sure I was that great of a husband," I tell Robert.

Reyes snorts from behind his mask. "Captain Amari felt guilty that she was tying you down, you know. Her words. She told such glowing stories of you that half the unit daydreamed about following her back to sweep you off your feet."

"Wouldn't have worked," I protest, blushing. "I was about as uninterested as you can get and still have a pulse." I kiss Robert again. "That changed the moment I met my scruffy Italian prince."

Robert's blushing a little now. "Shut up, Jack. You're the Disney Prince, not me."

"Does that mean it's on me to propose?" I ask in a teasing tone.

Whoops. I think I broke him. He's just staring at me in disbelief. Then Reyes mutters, "Finally!" and there's an anguished sort of drawn-out cry from Joseph and-

I remember the warning that we might want to try to avoid seeing as much as possible and turn to kiss Robert against the wall again. He groans into my mouth, hands sliding down my body to cup my ass and pull me tighter against him. The sounds coming from behind us...I don't want to think about them. I concentrate on the leather-and-clove of Robert's jacket, the scent of his skin, the way he's kissing me like it's his only lifeline to safety.

An indeterminate amount of time later, a voice says "I feel like I need popcorn," and I realize it was Reyes.

Guiltily, Robert and I stop kissing and turn around. Joseph's curled into the fetal position on the floor, shaking and making little sobbing sounds while Reyes stands over him, arms crossed in a very satisfied way.

"The demon's dead," Reyes says. "If you were wondering. Although boy..." He gets a disgruntled look on his face and belches, a wisp of black smoke emerging from his mouth while he puts one hand on his stomach. "...that was _not_ entirely pleasant and I'm going to be feeling that for a _while_."

I don't want to know. I _don't_ want to know.

"So, uh, I wasn't _completely_ honest with you earlier. Not that I lied or anything," he says as Robert stiffens. "I just didn't tell you absolutely everything. I didn't come here alone. But my...associate...isn't a combat operative. Her job is to clean up afterwards." Reyes gives us an apologetic smile. "You're not going to remember any of this, and neither is Joseph here."

Robert's arms tighten slightly around me. "Is he going to be any...different...now that he's not possessed?"

Reyes grimaces. "Probably not significantly. He was raised by the previous host, remember. He would have been preened to be the next host." He belches again, looking disgusted. "Ugh. I don't suppose either of you have any gum or anything?"

We both search our pockets. I come up with a peppermint candy from an unknown restaurant, which Reyes accepts with relief and pops into his mouth.

"Anyway, nice meeting you both," he says, holding his hand out for us to shake, which we do. "Don't worry, Sombra's very good at what she does, none of you will know this ever happened. You'll wake up with false memories of an uneventful afternoon and evening, and I'll be sure to let Captain Amari know you're doing well, Jack."

Wait. Ana-

Before I can finish the thought, a flash of purple fills my mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sole reason this isn't canon is because it would take the wordcount up over 100k.


End file.
